


master of fire

by nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:36:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 133,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare/pseuds/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare
Summary: Nezumi is the last of the FireMasters - people who can create, control, and consume fire at will. Despite the threat Nezumi promises, Shion can't seem to acknowledge this danger over his own impulse to keep the last FireMaster beside him.Preview:Nezumi didn’t understand this guy. Squinted at him. “So you’re fine that a stranger is waltzing into your home and drinking your coffee out of your mug for no apparent reason.”Shion raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t just waltz in, I invited you in. And just because the reason isn’t apparent doesn’t mean there isn’t any.”“Are you aware of stranger danger?”Shion smiled. The guy, Nezumi was beginning to realize, was not normal. “Sure. You don’t seem dangerous to me.”Nezumi weaved his fingers through his bangs to push them off his forehead. “Maybe you haven’t heard – I’m the last surviving FireMaster. I can set your entire apartment on fire with the snap of my fingers. I can even do it without snapping my fingers.” It was not an empty threat. It was a warning.





	1. Chapter 1

The day after Shion’s own photograph was featured on the front page of the newspaper, a large picture and accompanying article of a different man spread across it. This particular man was the last surviving FireMaster.

            At least, that was what the headline claimed.

            _Last Surviving FireMaster Discovered After Rescue of Family of Four._

            “What’s this?” Shion asked, picking up the paper after scanning the headline.

            “I wish I could say I found your feature more interesting, but the FireMaster tops your water filtration system patent.” Safu spoke above the lip of her tea, sliding another steaming mug across the kitchen counter where she sat and Shion joined her.

            “Is this real?” Shion skimmed the first lines of the article, realized he wasn’t taking any of the words in – distracted by the photograph in the center – and started again.

            “It’s the city’s most reputable newspaper, I should hope it’s real.”

            “None of them survived…” Shion murmured, lifting the paper closer and squinting at the font that still couldn’t quite confiscate his attention from the man staring back at him with hardly any expression at all.

            When Shion could concentrate, he read the article through, then again, and was halfway through his third read when the paper disappeared from his hands entirely.

            “What – ?”

            “How long does it take to read an article?” Safu asked, her eyebrows raised as she regarded the newspaper she had snatched.

            Shion reached out for his tea. “I was rereading it. It’s hard to believe the first time around.”

            “Is it any easier the second?”

            Shion shrugged. “Not really, so I was trying for a third, but you took it from me.”

            Safu smiled and laid the newspaper out on the counter between them so that they both could look at the photograph in the center.

            “They never knew how many there were in the first place. It was always only an assumption that they all died in the massacre.”

            Shion glanced at Safu, who was regarding the photograph thoughtfully.

            “He might not be the last survivor then,” he pointed out.

            Safu lifted her gaze to his. “I thought you read the article twice. He said he was.”

            “He might have been lying,” Shion said, without any idea as to why he was saying it. He watched Safu’s expression shift to subtle confusion and changed the subject before he had to explain himself – unsure of what explanation he could offer. “Why do you think he was in our city anyway? Their village was on the opposite end of the country.”

            “The FireMasters’ village has been destroyed for almost twenty years. Why would he remain in its ruins?”

            Shion looked away from his friend back at the photograph, where the flat grey eyes seemed to catch on his own.

            “How did no one notice him? In all this time, after so many years, surely someone had to notice. He’s definitely noticeable.”

            It wasn’t only the eyes. The expression, unreadable and troubling, calm and stormy all at once like there was lightning just beneath his skin. The hair and skin such a striking contrast of dark and light that anyone would double-take. A gentle sharpness of his features, contradictory in every way Shion could think of them – someone would notice him, everyone would notice him.

            “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Shion. Do you think this is a ruse? That those are colored contacts? Or that the photograph has been doctored? Do you think the entire article is a hoax to – What? Sell more papers? It appears to me highly unlikely that the City Journal would risk credibility just to garner temporary excitement about a fake surviving FireMaster.” Safu spoke slowly, and Shion could tell she thought he was acting strangely.

            Maybe he was. He felt strange. Looking at this man, he felt very strange, a vague sort of discomfort mixed with violent intrigue, the cocktail of which churned oddly in his stomach and prickled at his skin.

            Shion had more objections to the article, but kept them to himself, not wanting to worry his friend. He looked at her and smiled instead, took a sip of his tea before placing his mug back down and cupping his hands around it.

            “You’re right, of course it’s not a hoax. I guess I’m just surprised. A surviving FireMaster – it’s not what I expected.”

            Safu looked at Shion carefully for a moment, but thankfully softened her gaze and nodded, pushing back her stool and standing up.

            “Of course not, no one expected this. Come on, we should get going. Want me to give you a ride?”

            “I’ll take the train today, but thanks.” Shion downed his tea quickly, glancing at the newspaper again once more before standing up from his own stool and following Safu to the front door of their apartment.

            Safu had a longer commute and drove to the university where she taught, while Shion’s research facility was only two train stops away, and he enjoyed public transport – something Safu found bizarre and increasingly teased him about.

            Shion enjoyed it because it offered time to think – there was nothing but the bustle of strangers and the hum of the train, white noise that Shion found conducive of thought. He came up with some of his best ideas on the train – such as the water filtration device that would finally allow Japan’s water to be safe for drinking from the tap. No more boiling beforehand necessary, as had been protocol for the previous decade after contaminants had been discovered and caused initial country-wide panic, followed by a reluctant acceptance and adjustment to a new normal.

            With Shion’s filtration system, as his own frontline appearance in the newspaper had explained only the day before, water could be filtered throughout the pipeline so that by the time it reached the faucet – and thus, the public – it was contaminant-free, pure as it had been when Shion had been in his early teens and had never even imagined clean water would be a rarity or that he would spend his career working to bring it back to his country.

            On the train, Shion sat by a window, but was distracted from the world outside by the passengers around him, all holding copies of the newspaper and speaking to one another about the subject of today’s front page.

            Shion, too, could not stop thinking about the FireMaster. There was something odd about the story. Like the headline summarized, a family of four – a mother and her three kids – were stuck in the upstairs level of their burning house, and before the ambulance and fire department could arrive, the flames were suddenly being whipped away as if swallowed. Neighbors standing on their front porches and lawns all watched the man on the sidewalk in front of the burning house, arms stretched out and palms curled in fists around a cord of fire that he tugged from the house towards his chest, one hand in front of the other until he’d pulled it all seemingly into his own body.

            “ ‘And this, well, this rope of fire, ain’t no other way to say it, he just pulled it straight into his heart, and then there was no fire at all anymore, just the house, smoking, and the man in front of it, the FireMaster, cause that’s what he was, not even out of breath.’ ”

            It was a woman two seats away from Shion, reading from the newspaper to the people around her, who all chimed in with their own favorite parts of the article and exclamations of disbelief and wonder.

            The FireMaster himself had not offered any direct quotes, the writer of the article instead summarizing whatever information had been gained from him – that he was the last of his kind, that he was not living around here, that he did not consider himself a hero, that he had no further comment, that he declined from any following interviews.

            It wasn’t, as he had told Safu, that Shion thought this was a hoax. He believed the man on the front page of the newspaper was indeed a FireMaster – as proven by his silver eyes, the mark of all those who could control, consume, and produce fire at will.

            Shion simply could not understand how no one had known of his existence when twenty years ago, after the anonymous massacre of the FireMaster’s village, the police, news crews, and search parties had all scoured the country – all of Asia, even, and then the rest of the world – for any survivors for months. There had been fires before this one, families of four and five and six in danger before this family – why had the FireMaster not emerged for those? Why had he not pulled the fire like a thick rope away from other houses, why had he not consumed previous fires into his chest, why had he not rescued any others?

            Shion could only assume that this man had been in hiding. The FireMaster had not wanted to be found.

            But that only raised more questions. Why had he surfaced now, twenty years after all of his kind were declared deceased? Why had he saved this family of four, who, in their own quotes in the article, stated no relation or previous knowledge of their hero’s existence – only a vast gratitude now, of his kindness, of his valiance, of his rescue.

            And why did he surface here, so far from his village, across the entire country?

            Shion wished the interviewer had asked these questions, though, he supposed, the FireMaster may have declined answering all of them as well. Clearly, he was very guarded, and perhaps he had reason to be, seeing as all of his people had been senselessly murdered.

            It amazed Shion that the FireMaster had even given his name, and Shion wondered if he had given it at all, or if it had been taken from him by persistent reporters.

            Shion wondered, too, if the name in the article was even the FireMaster’s real name, or a lie, which certainly seemed possible, even probable, Shion thought, as the woman who’d read the previous quote began to read another while the train stopped at Shion’s station and he stood up, hearing the woman’s voice behind him as he walked through the carriage.

            “ ‘The last surviving FireMaster – a new hero in our city – lacks a surname as did all FireMasters, and goes simply by the name of Nezumi. It is without a doubt that many lives will be changed by the FireMaster in our midst, starting with the family of four who owe their lives to this incredible man. Thank you, Nezumi, for reminding us that there are not only good people in this world, but those who are truly exceptional.’ ”

            Shion stepped off the train and walked straight to a newspaper bin with a quickly dwindling stack of papers within it. He glanced down at the photograph that was familiar by now, though it’d only been in print for a few hours.

            “Nezumi,” Shion said to the silver eyes that gazed back, just to test the name out for himself, just to see what it might sound like in his own voice, just to feel it fall from his lips.

*

Nezumi regretted saving the family of four.

            His face was plastered on every newspaper’s front page, and Nezumi had nearly dropped the copy left outside his door as if burned.

            _Ha._ _As if burned._

            He’d had to sneak out of his motel room, leaving the money on the night table as if for a whore rather than the woman at the front desk he couldn’t risk encountering to check out properly. She had no doubt seen the article, she would not doubt recognize him from the photograph.

            The picture was huge, blown up over nearly the entire page, the article itself a slim border around it like Nezumi’s image was more important than the story.

            Maybe it was. Those were the unmistakable eyes of a FireMaster, and a picture was worth a thousand words, wasn’t that the saying?

            Outside the motel wasn’t better. Nezumi now weaved, head down, hood up, in a crowd. He hated cities. Crowded, filthy, noisy. Cement everywhere. Buildings that blocked out the sun.

            Nezumi was not entirely sure where he was going. The original plan had been to find the man from the previous day’s newspaper, but he’d thrown that plan out the window on saving that family of four.

            Nezumi would have to leave this city. Hope the news hadn’t spread countrywide. He didn’t need to become a spectacle.

            Worse, he didn’t need to become a hero. He wasn’t a hero. He saved a family of four – that didn’t make him a hero. That had nothing to do with being a hero. He hadn’t even meant to save them in the first place.

            He hadn’t come to this city to save anyone.

*

Shion’s features were fairly recognizable, and so two weeks after the article on his water filtration system – and therefore, two weeks after the implementation of his system and the accessibility of instant clean water for the entire country straight from their faucets – Shion was used to being stopped and thanked on the street by random people.

            Shion was not quite certain what to do with this gratitude, and insisted with each handshake that it was by no means a sole effort, that he was only part of a team, that he was happy to do it for his country, that it really wasn’t a big deal.

            “It really is a big deal,” Safu said, leaning on the doorway of Shion’s bedroom, right across from hers in the apartment they’d shared since graduating university.

            “Well, I mean, yes, I suppose it is a big deal, but it’s unnecessary for people to be thankful, I was only doing my job,” Shion said, stripping off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

            “You should be less humble, this may be your biggest success and you won’t be allowed the chance to enjoy it in a few months. People move on rather quickly.”

            Shion laughed, pulling off his shirt and undershirt and tugging on a t-shirt from a pile on the floor that he sniffed first to gage its cleanness. “Thanks, Safu.”

            “I’m only being honest.”

            A knock at the door interrupted anything Shion might have said, and he glanced at Safu, whose profile was to him as she was looking in the way of the front door.

            “Are you expecting anyone?”

            “No. And we didn’t buzz anyone into the building,” Shion said, rebuttoning his work pants that he’d been intending to change into sweats.

            “I’ll check,” Safu said, disappearing from Shion’s doorway, and Shion watched the absence of her while he listened to her footsteps down the hall, then the opening of the front door, then Safu’s voice, offering a greeting not at all what he’d expected –

            “It’s you.”

            There was a soft laugh that Shion could not recognize, but the sound of it drew him closer to his own doorway, then out into the hall, though he stopped when he heard the voice that accompanied it. “You don’t seem surprised.”

            “I am. I’m just proficient at hiding my emotions,” Safu said, and there was that laugh again.

            It was low and more like an exhale than a laugh. “Good to know. May I speak to Shion?”

            Shion tilted his head on the sound of his name. He had no idea whom this could be, but he felt a certain thrill that the owner of this voice, of that laugh, wished to speak with him.

            “Shouldn’t you ask if he’s here first?” Safu countered.

            “I know that he’s here.”

            There was a pause. Shion was not far enough down the hall to see anything but the light shining out the doorway of the kitchen, through which the front door sat.

            “Would you like to come in?”

            “I’d rather not.”

            “Okay, I’ll get him,” Safu said, and a moment later a shadow interfered with the light pouring out from the kitchen, and then there was Safu, jumping on sight of Shion in the hallway.

            “Who is it?” Shion asked.

            Safu was looking at Shion in a way he could not gage, despite the large variety of looks he’d received from Safu since his childhood. “I don’t know that you’d believe me if I told you. Perhaps you should just go and see for yourself.”

            Shion wanted to question her further, but there was an easier solution, and he nodded, walked towards and then past his friend and through the kitchen to the open front door, where, on the other side of the open doorway, there stood the last surviving FireMaster.

            “Nezumi,” Shion said, a reflex, not thinking.

            The grey eyes sat as expressionlessly over Shion’s face as they had through his photograph in the paper two weeks before.

            “Shion,” he said, finally.

            “How do you know my name?” Shion had too many questions, but this felt the most appropriate.

            “The same way you know mine,” the man offered, like it should have been obvious.

            Shion assumed this meant the newspaper.

            _Why are you here?_ Shion knew that was the next logical question, but he didn’t want to ask it. He didn’t want the man – this Nezumi – to question why he was there, he didn’t want Nezumi to think of any reason to leave.

            “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?” Shion asked instead.

            The grey eyes were scanning his face now, as if Shion’s features might change at any moment, or perhaps as if the FireMaster – as if Nezumi – was memorizing them.

            “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”

            “I considered it and decided not to,” Shion answered, and the grey eyes narrowed the slightest bit, hardly noticeable.

            “Wise decision,” Nezumi said, and then he took a step back away from the doorway. “Have a good night, Shion.”

            Shion took a step forward. “Are you going? I thought you wanted to speak with me.”

            “And now we’ve spoken.” Nezumi took another step back, turned as if to leave, then glanced over his shoulder. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t follow me,” he said, as though he could read Shion’s mind, see his imaginings of following Nezumi, of reaching out, grabbing his arm, asking him to stay.

            Shion said nothing, as he was not given the chance to. Nezumi had turned back around and walked away, disappearing out the stairway door.

            Shion was still holding his breath when Safu appeared beside him, peeking out the open front doorway.

            “Judging from your expression, you have none of the answers to the questions I wanted to ask you concerning why exactly the last surviving FireMaster came to speak to you for not even a total of five minutes about seemingly nothing at all,” Safu commented, no longer looking out the doorway.

            She stepped back, and Shion did as well, closing the front door only reluctantly.

            “Do you think he’ll come back?” Shion asked.

            Safu shrugged. “Honestly, Shion, I don’t know.”

            Shion did not think he had ever heard Safu state her own cluelessness with so much certainty.

            But he’d also never felt his heart beat so hard, his pulse jump so fast.

            It was an evening for firsts, and hopefully, not lasts.

*

Nezumi had seen Shion, spoken to him, confirmed his existence and that it was not some newspaper hoax, not some photographic doctoring, not some old-fashioned red-eye camera flash effect – the man with the red eyes and white hair and snakelike scar from the article was in fact real.

            That was all Nezumi needed to know. Now he would leave. Not see Shion again. Not speak to him again. Not have anything to do with him again.

            Outside Shion’s apartment building, Nezumi managed to stagger three blocks before cutting into an alleyway, leaning against a building and doubling over, hands on his knees as he tried to breathe.

            His chest felt much too small. Constricted. Full of smoke. His skin hot. Varnished in fire. Burning.

            _Concentrate. Inhale. Exhale._

            He was not in a fire. He knew that. If he was, he could control it. He could swallow it whole, he could consume it, he could absorb it, he could take it into his chest and turn it into tissues for his organs, cells for his tissues, blood for his heart to pump in and out, air for his lungs to expand and let go.

            Nezumi caught his breath. Stood up. Pushed his bangs from his forehead and glanced down both sides of the alleyway, making sure no one had followed him. He was aware that people were looking for him. He was the last surviving FireMaster. People wanted to celebrate him. To interview him. To question him. To watch him.

            To throw fire at him, to see what he would do with it, how he would master it, as if fire was something to be controlled, as if anything like that could ever really be controlled.

            _FireMaster._ The name itself was a lie. There was no master of fire. Nezumi’s own people had never referred to themselves in this way. Had never been so cocky, so arrogant, as if to think fire was at their will simply because it would often entertain their wishes.

            Nezumi tilted his head back against the building where he leaned. The sky was darkening, and this was a relief. It was easier to hide in the dark. He’d leave tonight, as he’d meant to leave two weeks before.

            He still wasn’t sure why he’d stuck around. To see Shion, yes, but he’d confirmed Shion’s existence the first day in this city, he’d tracked Shion to his place of work, watched him enter his building then exit a few hours later.

            He’d seen the red eyes, white hair, and scar from a distance. For two weeks, Nezumi had kept this distance.

            To speak to him, really, had been superfluous.

            No. Nezumi shook his head to clear it. It had been necessary. He’d had to make sure. Prove it wasn’t colored contacts, wasn’t dyed hair, wasn’t some trick of the light. He’d had to see Shion up close, and he’d done so, and he’d known simply from the way his chest had constricted that this was the right person, this was not a trick, this was not a mistake, this was the man Nezumi had known about since the day his entire village burned alive around him.

            Now Nezumi knew, and now he could finally leave.

*

Three days after Nezumi knocked on their door, Shion and Safu were playing cards and splitting a bottle of wine in their small living room, their usual Friday night tradition.

            The news was on in the background, as the two friends could never agree on a television program, and settling on the news was easier than flipping through channels never-endingly.

            “Want more?” Safu asked, holding up the bottle to refill her glass as Shion pulled a two of spades from his hand and placed it on top of Safu’s queen.

            Shion was about to confirm when his attention was stolen by a newscaster’s mention of the very man who’d been constant on his own mind.

            “…FireMaster did not show up, and two houses on a nearby neighborhood street burned down before the fire department could control the flames. Three casualties have been recorded, and four others have been taken to the hospital. More information on this story as it comes.”

            “Safu, look,” Shion said, pointing, but the news had switched to a commercial for Puppy Chow.

            “The houses, I heard.”

            “Nezumi didn’t help them.”

            Safu raised an eyebrow. “And how was he supposed to know about the fire? He doesn’t work for the fire department, and I doubt the people in the burning houses knew of his number to phone him and ask for his assistance. He has a life of his own, he might not even still be in the city.”

            “He could have saved them, Safu. He has the power to save people, he should use it,” Shion argued. “He could have given the fire department a number to call for when they heard about a fire.”

            “That’s what you would have done, Shion, because you feel an obligation to help people. Not everyone shares the same priorities.”

            Shion shook his head. He was angry without knowing why.

            No, he knew why. He was angry with Nezumi for not helping these people when he had the ability to do so. He was angry with Nezumi for coming to his door three days ago and leaving too quickly. He was angry with himself for obsessing over Nezumi, and he knew he was obsessing, but he couldn’t stop.

            “I have to take a walk.”

            “What? Shion, it’s nearly midnight.”

            Shion had already stood up. Stumbled a bit, the wine hitting him rather abruptly. He caught his balance, touched the wall until he was steady on his own legs, then made his way to the front door, grabbing his coat off the armrest of the couch on his way.

            “Shion, are you seriously going out there? Let me come with you, it’s late and freezing – ”

            “I need to be alone for a little,” Shion argued, shaking his head, a movement he regretted as it seemed to jostle the drunkenness in him.

            Safu’s hand caught the sleeve of Shion’s jacket after he pulled it on. “Talk to me, Shion. You’ve been acting oddly since that FireMaster spoke to you. What is going on?”

            Shion pulled his sleeve away, looked at his friend, having to work harder than usual to meet her gaze and keep his own steady. “I don’t know,” he said, and it was the truth.

            He didn’t know what was wrong with him, only that something felt wrong, something felt jerked out of place inside of him, and he was certain without knowing how that only Nezumi could put it right again.

            “Shion…”

            “I’ll be fine, I just need to go on a walk,” Shion insisted, and then he left the apartment, taking the elevator and leaning against the wall of it until the doors opened on the bottom floor and he stumbled out.

            It took effort to walk properly, but he could do it if he concentrated, and the cold outside helped sober him, if only slightly.

            He did not know where he was going, only that he had to walk, had to clear his head, had to breathe in fresh air because he felt a bit like he was suffocating. Like there was something in his chest that shouldn’t be there, like there was something in his lungs too thick to exhale.

            Shion had walked three blocks when the exhaustion set – a delayed reaction to wine that usually had Safu half-carrying Shion to his bed and chastising him for not knowing how to hold his liquor at twenty-six years old.

            Now, Shion was not in his living room, not with Safu who could drop him on his mattress and cover him with a blanket, deposit a kiss on his forehead before going to her own room.

            Now, Shion was standing in the middle of the road, not remembering having left the sidewalk, not caring because there were no cars out. He was on one of the neighborhood streets of the city, one of the less busy streets – not any street; he was on the street with the burning houses. He could recognize the street from the news, and when he turned he could see the two houses’ half-charred remains, and when he closed his eyes he could imagine the fires coating them, and when he breathed in he could smell the smoke like the flames were still lit.

            “Shion.”

            Shion knew the voice before he opened his eyes and was not surprised to hear it – maybe that was the drunkenness too. It was easier to breathe now, but the smell of smoke was only stronger, and when Shion did open his eyes it was to see that Nezumi was covered in soot.

            “You didn’t save them,” Shion said. His eyes burned, not with fire but with a sadness – another effect of the wine.

            Nezumi stared at him with wide eyes. Silver eyes. The eyes of a FireMaster, the eyes of the last surviving FireMaster.

            “I know,” Nezumi finally said, a whisper, a breath, an inhale more than an exhale. He sounded gutted, as if punched, as if the breath had been knocked out of him and formed these tiny, soft syllables on the way out.

            “Why didn’t you?” Shion asked. He reached his hands up to wipe at his eyes. He thought Nezumi looked very sad, but that didn’t make sense because Nezumi was expressionless, a mask of nothing.

            Not that Shion knew him. He didn’t. He had to remind himself of this. He didn’t know Nezumi, not at all, and had no business feeling as though he did.

            “I’m not a hero, Shion,” Nezumi said, and there was the mask again, there was the nothingness.

            “I don’t know you,” Shion reminded him, just in case Nezumi had also forgotten.

            They didn’t know each other, but for photographs in the newspaper. It occurred to Shion for the first time that Nezumi had somehow known where he lived. Shion’s address hadn’t been in the newspaper article.

            Before he could ask about it, Nezumi was speaking.

            “You reek of alcohol.”

            “I was drinking wine,” Shion explained, then remembered he didn’t have to explain himself to this Nezumi, he didn’t know this Nezumi, he was speaking to this Nezumi for only the second time in his life and there was no reason for it to feel like the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth.

            “Is there a reason you’re standing in the middle of the street blocks from your apartment?”

            “I didn’t mean to come here. I just, found myself here. Drawn here. Found myself drawn to – ” Shion stopped speaking. Nezumi was looking at him in a frighteningly sharp way. In a concentrated way that made it hard to speak at all. That made it hard to do anything but feel as though a fire was blooming in his core, and Shion wondered vaguely if FireMasters could do that, light another person on fire, ignite their insides, spark their bones.

            Nezumi stared a second longer, then shook his head as if to clear it. “You were just wandering around drunk. You just happened to come here.”

            “If you say so.”

            “I did say so,” Nezumi snapped, and Shion bit his lip.

            It was dark, but Shion’s eyes had long since adjusted. Nezumi’s hair was down, scattered. It was longer than Shion had thought from before, from when it had been in a ponytail. It spread over his shoulders like the night sky had melted onto them.

            “Why is there soot on you?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi turned away from him. Looked at the houses, so Shion did too, the scars on them, the burns on them. “I don’t see how that’s your business. Like you said, you don’t know me.”

            “Do you know me?” Shion asked, because it occurred to him that Nezumi did.

            More than just from the article in the paper. Enough that Nezumi had tracked him down to his apartment. Enough that he’d wanted to speak to Shion, if only for a minute. Enough that he’d looked at Shion that way he did, with sweeping eyes like he was memorizing, but maybe that hadn’t been right at all.

            Maybe Nezumi had been recognizing.

            Shion turned to watch Nezumi tuck his hands in his jacket pockets. “Of course not.”

            Shion knew that by all means, this should have been true, as there was no reason for the last surviving FireMaster to know him.

            Even so, he had a strong suspicion that Nezumi was lying.

*

As Nezumi walked away from Shion, for the first time in his life, he wanted to make fire.

            Not to simply conjure it onto the palm of his hand, a source of light in a city whose pollution took away the stars.

            Not only to flick sparks over his skin, a source of warmth when the night got to an hour when it the chill of it creeped under his flesh.

            He wanted to exhale all the air from his lungs and breathe fire onto the street. He wanted to coat the pavement with it, the lawns around him, the houses still standing, the people inside them. He wanted to fill the entire night with it, stuff the sky to the brim.

            He wanted to make so much of it that it would cover him, burn him, and he’d have a distraction from whatever it was Shion did to him – Nezumi couldn’t name it and didn’t care to.

            He only wanted it gone. He was still in this city, and he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to be anywhere near here, but that was the problem.

            There was nowhere that Nezumi wanted to be.

            But that wasn’t quite true. There was the past. Nezumi wanted to be in the past, but what a useless thought, what a pointless hope, and Nezumi wanted to conjure his fire to burn that too, turn his memories to ash, make it hard enough to breathe that it was impossible to remember.

*

Shion began to take nightly walks.

            He knew, on some level, that he was not likely to run into Nezumi by pure chance again. He also knew that Nezumi had most likely only been out that night because of the two houses that had caught fire, one spreading to the next because of their close proximity and the strong winds that day.

            Shion took walks anyway. It was better than being in his and Safu’s apartment, waiting for another knock on the door.

*


	2. Chapter 2

Nezumi waited for the woman who lived with Shion to leave before slipping into the building behind a man with a grocery bag full of bagels and heading up the stairs to Shion’s floor.

            He knocked on the door as he had a full month prior, and this time, of course, it was Shion who opened it.

            He had a toothbrush in his mouth and suds on the corner of his lips, and when he spoke, it was around the toothbrush.

            “Oh. I thou’ you ‘ere thafu.”

            “You’ve got something in your mouth, so I didn’t quite catch that,” Nezumi replied.

            It was almost noon. Nezumi was surprised Shion was a late riser, not that he knew anything about the man to make assumptions otherwise.

            Shion took the toothbrush from his lips. “I thought you were Safu.”

            “What’s a Safu?”

            “Come in,” Shion said, which wasn’t an explanation, and then he was leaving the doorway and disappearing into the apartment.

            Nezumi blinked at his absence for a moment, then let himself in, closing the door behind him and taking in the kitchen he was faced with.

            It was small and smelled like coffee. Nezumi made his way to the coffee pot and poured himself a serving into the mug beside the sink.

            There was the sound of a sink running from somewhere else in the apartment, and then it was turning off and Shion was returning, minus the toothbrush this time with the suds wiped from his lips. He wore a t-shirt and striped pajama pants.

            “That’s my mug,” he pointed, as Nezumi took a sip from it. “And Safu is my roommate, the woman who answered the door the first time you came here.”

            “Girlfriend?” Nezumi asked, unsure why he asked it, and Shion, who’d turned to a cupboard to grab another mug, glanced at him.

            “No.”

            He said it as if there was a laugh behind his voice. Nezumi glanced away from him under the guise of surveying the rest of the kitchen. Shion’s t-shirt had risen from his waist as he’d stretched for a spare mug, and Nezumi had been able to see that his scar was not only on his cheek and neck.

            Nezumi thought about where else the scar might be as he looked at the books on the counter, the dead potted plant beside a toaster, the single oven mitt hanging off the handle of the oven.

            “You’re still not going to ask why I’m here?” Nezumi had finished his coffee by then. Placed his mug in the sink he leaned against. Looked at Shion who held his mug cupped in both hands up against his chest.

            “I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would, and my asking wouldn’t make a difference.”

            Nezumi didn’t understand this guy. Squinted at him. “So you’re fine that a stranger is waltzing into your home and drinking your coffee out of your mug for no apparent reason.”

            Shion raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t just waltz in, I invited you in. And just because the reason isn’t apparent doesn’t mean there isn’t any.”

            “Are you aware of stranger danger?”

            Shion smiled. The guy, Nezumi was beginning to realize, was not normal. “Sure. You don’t seem dangerous to me.”

            Nezumi weaved his fingers through his bangs to push them off his forehead. “Maybe you haven’t heard – I’m the _last surviving FireMaster_. I can set your entire apartment on fire with the snap of my fingers. I can even do it without snapping my fingers.” It was not an empty threat. It was a warning.

            _Run._

            “Then do it,” Shion said, like a dare, like he really meant it, and Nezumi stared at him.

            “You want me to light your apartment on fire.”

            “Of course not. I know you won’t do it.”

            “You don’t know anything about me.”

            “Then do it.” Shion leaned forward. He appeared completely serious.

            He was a lunatic.

            Nezumi leaned back. “I’m not lighting your apartment on fire.”

            “Why not?”

            “Is there something wrong with you? Like, cognitively?” Nezumi asked, pointing at his own head.

            Shion shrugged. “Not that I know of. Is there something wrong with you?”

            Nezumi crossed his arms over his chest. This guy was not only crazy. He was annoying.

            “Ask me why I’m here,” Nezumi said. This time, he was the one to make the dare. He didn’t think Shion would do it.

            He didn’t want Shion to do it.

            Shion tilted his head. “Why are you here, Nezumi?”

            Nezumi considered lying. But the truth was safer, because he knew Shion wouldn’t believe it.

            He didn’t know Shion, but he could guess this about the man. He was the kind of sucker who thought people were good. He was the kind of idiot that believed in the best of others.

            Nezumi uncrossed his arms. Looked at Shion, wanted to give the guy this chance to get away, this chance to save himself because he seemed like a good guy – annoying, maybe, a weirdo, definitely, but he seemed decent, and Nezumi was going to be fair. Give the guy a chance to save his own life before Nezumi had to take it.

            “I’m here to burn you alive,” Nezumi said, looking at Shion carefully, the red eyes, the white hair, the scar like a snake on this man whom Nezumi had not ever wanted to find, whom Nezumi had seen in the newspaper twenty years after learning of this man’s existence, whom Nezumi had watched hoping those were just colored contacts and dyed hair, whom Nezumi had spoken to wishing the guy might be an asshole, someone who deserved to die, someone who deserved what Nezumi was going to do to him.

            Creases dipped between Shion’s eyebrows. He did not seem scared. He looked confused, as if Nezumi had spoken in a different language.

            “You want to burn me alive?” Shion asked.

            “That’s not what I said.” Nezumi didn’t want any of this.

            “If you don’t want to do it, then why would you?”

            “This is when you’re supposed to kick me out of your apartment. I just threatened to kill you,” Nezumi reminded.

            He needed Shion to have common sense. To defend himself. To get away from him. To pick up the phone and call the police and have them arrest Nezumi, lock him up, keep him from getting near Shion, from acting on this fate Nezumi didn’t want and hadn’t asked for and didn’t know how to shake from his skin.

            “If you’re going to kill me, asking you to leave my apartment probably wouldn’t stop you.”

            Nezumi dug his nails into his palm. He was not so easily annoyed. He was not so easily angered. He knew better than this. _Calm down. Inhale. Exhale._ “You don’t think I’m serious.”

            “I do think you’re serious. That’s why I’m confused. I don’t understand why you would want to kill me.”

            “I don’t want to!” Nezumi snapped, and the single oven mitt hanging off the handle of the oven burst into flame.

            Nezumi stared at it. When he was young, he was taught – as all of his people were taught as children – how to control their ability. Babies could not control it, might set cottages on fire without meaning to, might swallow entire campfires without knowing. They had to be constantly under supervision, under watch of someone who could put out any accidental flames, until they were old enough to learn to experience emotion without risk.

            Nezumi hadn’t had an accident since he was three. He had been a fast learner. The adults had commended him.

            His mother had praised him. _You are my amazing, lovely boy. I am so proud of you, my bright star._

            “Nezumi, Nezumi!” Shion was saying, his voice loud, and Nezumi realized Shion had been repeating his name without Nezumi noticing.

            The fire alarm was going off in Shion’s apartment. Nezumi glanced at the oven mitt where the fire had grown. He held out a hand with a finger loosely outstretched, curled it towards himself in a beckoning motion, watched as the flame was drawn into his own wrist where it skated over his skin before dipping into his flesh, winding alongside his veins.

            He walked out the kitchen, found himself in a living room with large windows that he approached and wrenched open to let the smoke out, and sure enough, the incessant beeping of the fire alarm stopped a minute later.

            Nezumi didn’t move from the window. He breathed in the fresh, smokeless air. He felt like he was suffocating. The fire he’d taken in still warmed him, just underneath the surface of his skin.

            It didn’t burn, but Nezumi knew it could. Knew how easily it could turn on him, it could brand him, remind him that he was not in control, he was never in control.

            Nezumi flinched at the hand on his shoulder.

            “Sorry,” Shion said quickly, withdrawing his hand. “I didn’t mean – I’m sorry.”

            Nezumi didn’t look at him. Shoved his hands in his pockets and wondered if the oven mitt could be salvaged. Probably not. It was made to withstand heat, but nothing could survive a hungry fire, especially not one created by a FireMaster.

            It was a different type of fire. A more dangerous one. Regular fire was random, had no aim, no goal, but the fire of a FireMaster had intention. Had a human behind it.

            “Are you okay?”

            Nezumi clenched his jaw. Worked to unclench it. “I nearly lit your apartment on fire. You shouldn’t be asking if I’m okay.”

            “What should I be asking?”

            Nezumi whipped around to glare at the man who had the gall to ask Nezumi these questions, to act as if he knew Nezumi, as if he could comfort Nezumi, as if he had any clue, any inclination as to why Nezumi might need to be comforted.

            “You should be asking me to get the hell away from you. You should be asking me to never come near you again. What about that do you not understand? I came to this city because I saw your photograph in the newspaper. I came here for you, Shion, not to save a family of four, not to sightsee. I came here to kill you.”

            “But you haven’t,” Shion insisted, like he could logic his way to safety, and Nezumi pinched the bridge of his nose.

            “Are you trying to annoy me into doing it faster?” he muttered.

            “I just don’t think it was very smart of you to tell me you were going to kill me if you really intended on doing it.”

            Nezumi chose not to reply. It was a conversation that would go in circles, that he could predict.

            Shion would ask _why_ again, Nezumi would reply that he had no choice, Shion would ask why he had no choice, Nezumi would light his couch on fire in annoyance, the fire alarm would go off, that incessant noise Nezumi couldn’t stand.

            He didn’t want to deal with any of that. Silence was easier, if only Shion would permit it.

            “Does that happen often?” Shion asked, his voice quieter, and Nezumi glanced at him.

            This was not the conversation he’d envisioned.

            “What are you talking about?”

             “The oven mitt,” Shion said, after a moment.

            Nezumi clenched his jaw again. Stared back out the window. “No.” His voice was tight through his teeth. His hands were fists in his pockets.

            _Inhale. Exhale._

            Nezumi was not out of control. He was a fast learner. He had made his mother proud. He did not have outbursts. His emotions were in check. Even his grief after his village had burned around him did not produce fire.

            Even his guilt had not conjured an accidental flame.

            Nezumi closed his eyes. Tight. Tighter. Hated that he was thinking about this, about any of this, as if it still might matter. As if anything from twenty years ago had a stake in today.

            “Does it hurt?”

            Nezumi didn’t bother asking what the hell Shion was talking about this time. He didn’t care to know.

            Unfortunately, Shion elaborated on his own. “The fire, I mean. When you – When you absorb it like that. Does that burn?”

            Nezumi opened his eyes. Shion’s apartment was on the seventh floor of the building. The sky outside his window was a dirty blue, like something stained.

            “I don’t feel anything,” Nezumi lied. He didn’t owe this guy an explanation.

            “How old are you, Nezumi?”

            Nezumi exhaled slowly. He wasn’t going to kill Shion today. He knew that without knowing how. A different day, but not today.

            Which meant Nezumi had no obligation to stick around, answer the guy’s inane questions. 

            He didn’t know why he stayed by the window. He didn’t know why he replied – “Twenty-six.”

            “Really? Me too! Oh, so you were only six years old…”

            The rest of Shion’s sentence didn’t need to be said.

            _You were only six years old when your village, your people, your family burned to ash and dust and nothing else. You were only six years old when you were left on your own. You were only six years old when the search parties came, the police came, the news crews came, and you ran because you were scared that they knew the truth, that they knew who was at fault, that they were after you._

            “Sorry. You must not like to think about it.”

            “Oh, no, I love talking about my dead family, keep at it,” Nezumi muttered, the words surprising him as they came off his lips.

            He’d never spoken of his family out loud. There’d never been anyone to speak about them to.

            He freed a hand from his pocket to reach up, shove his bangs from his forehead. He was aware of Shion staring at him. The guy had a gaze like cement.

            Shion didn’t say anything for a while, and Nezumi didn’t either, couldn’t remember the last time he’d stood still as he did then, couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt the need to be somewhere else.

            “Nezumi,” Shion said, after a minute or two, maybe three, Nezumi couldn’t tell.

            He glanced at Shion, those red eyes, that white hair, that scar that went who knew where around his body.

            “Are you hungry? Want to get breakfast with me? Or lunch, as the hour would suggest, I suppose.”

            Nezumi stared at Shion. He did not bother asking if the man was crazy because the answer was obvious, and it was clearly useless trying to talk any sense into him.

            And anyway, Nezumi hadn’t eaten all morning. He was, in fact, hungry.

            He tucked his hair behind his ears and tried not to roll his eyes. “Sure, Shion. Let’s get lunch.”

            Shion smiled so instantly it took Nezumi by surprise. “Great, let me get dressed, and we’ll go.”

            After Shion disappeared down a hallway, Nezumi wandered into the kitchen, glanced at the oven to see the state of the charred oven mitt, but it was absent.

            Nezumi looked for a second more as if it might reappear, then noticed the trash can sitting next to the fridge. He walked over to it, toed the bottom lever to lift the lid, and peered in to see the oven mitt, completely blackened, sitting on the top of the trash.

            Nezumi released the lever, let the trash can lid close again. He stepped away from it, then walked all the way to the front door to wait for Shion. 

            He felt a certain sense of relief, and knew better than to trust it.

*

Shion watched Nezumi pick off the pepperoni from his pizza and stack them carefully on his paper plate beside his slice.

            This was the fourteenth time Shion was getting food with the man in the month that it had been since Nezumi set Shion’s oven mitt on fire. Shion knew well enough by now that Nezumi had peculiar eating habits – such as ordering pepperoni pizza only to take off all but three pieces of pepperoni.

            More, he’d said, the first time Shion had asked, was excessive, which had made Shion laugh, and that had earned him one of Nezumi’s glares.

            Shion frequently earned one of Nezumi’s glares. He didn’t mind them. Nezumi’s eyes were just as fascinating in narrowed slits as they were when they watched Shion with that quiet calculation, or that slow wariness, or that flat exasperation.

            “It doesn’t make sense that you would audition, get the part, and then not take it,” Shion said, reaching out to take one of Nezumi’s stacked pepperoni’s and add it onto his own slice.

            Nezumi didn’t even look up at him. “I went to the audition to pass the time. I have no intention of getting a job here.”

            “How are you surviving without an income? You’ve been here two months.”

            “I’m secretly wealthy.”

            Shion scoffed. “No, you’re not.”

            “I rob banks.”

            “I’m serious, Nezumi, just give it a try. You were clearly amazing if you got the lead role without any previous acting experience.”

            “I have previous acting experience,” Nezumi said, pinching his napkin before raising his slice of pizza – finally acceptable, apparently – to his lips.

            “You’re an actor?” Shion demanded, leaning over the table.

            Nezumi chewed without saying anything, regarding Shion with his amused look that Shion also knew well.

            “Wait, you couldn’t have been an actor. If you ever got on stage, everyone would have seen that you were a FireMaster. Actually, how did they not recognize you during your audition?”

            “They did recognize me. How do you think I got the part? I hardly had to say two words before they were shoving their congratulations at me. I’m a spectacle, I’ll sell tickets like an exhibit in a freak show, and the stage manager knew that,” Nezumi said, not seeming at all bothered as he took a sip from Shion’s Coke.

            “If you want Coke, order Coke. Don’t get water and drink mine.”

            “Like you said, I’m without an income. You should share,” Nezumi replied, smirking around Shion’s straw. “This crap rots your teeth anyway, you should thank me for sparing you.”

            “Well, for whatever reason they hired you, you should take the job. You can’t just spend all your time at the library.”

            “And why can’t I? It’s free, and the librarian’s cute.”

            “The librarian is an old man,” Shion laughed.

            Nezumi shrugged, ripping off a piece of crust and popping it into his mouth. “That’s my type. I’m a golddigger, that’s how I get away without working.”

            Shion shook his head. “I really think you should take this theater thing seriously. I could help you with your lines if you wanted. It would be good for you.”

            Nezumi sighed. “I’m not getting a job here, Shion. I don’t live here.”

            “You’ve been living here the last two months.”

            “Temporarily.”

            “Right, until you kill me,” Shion murmured, rolling his eyes, though he couldn’t help but notice the shift in Nezumi’s expression.

            The ease was gone from Nezumi’s features, replaced by that cold seriousness that flattened the silver of his eyes into a dull grey and provoked a tick of skin over his jawline.

            “Don’t joke about that.”

            “You do understand why I have a hard time believing you, right?” Shion asked, serious as well now, wanting Nezumi to drop this because he could tell the idea upset him, and Shion couldn’t imagine why Nezumi was still considering it.

            He still didn’t know why Nezumi felt like he had to kill Shion in the first place, but he knew better by now than to ask.

            “Nezumi, we’re sitting here eating pizza. We’re friends. We’ve been friends for a full month now.”

            “We’re not friends,” Nezumi said quickly, in a startled way.

            Shion blinked. “Of course we are. We get lunch and coffee and dinner. I visit you at the library and do work while you read. You come over Safu’s and my place and help me with my patent work, or at least, complain about paperwork and distract me while I try to get stuff done. We see each other nearly daily. We talk to each other about our days, what we’ve done, how we’re feeling. We care about each other. That’s what friends do.”

            “I’m not your friend, Shion,” Nezumi said slowly, leaning away from the table.

            Shion leaned forward. “I believe that you came to this city to kill me. But you’re not going to do it now. And you don’t have to. Nezumi, I promise you, you don’t have to.”

            Nezumi’s eyes were slits. That familiar glare, but different than the everyday one.

            This was the glare of the man who’d set Shion’s oven mitt on fire, and Shion had known Nezumi hadn’t meant to, that it had happened outside his control.

             “You shouldn’t offer empty promises, it proves your word is useless.”

            “Then why haven’t you done it yet? What are you waiting for?” Shion kept his voice gentle. He didn’t want Nezumi to be angry. He wasn’t scared of the man, but he was worried about him.

            He could tell that Nezumi had been scared to see that his fire had erupted outside his control a month before. He could see the fear in his features, just a flash of it, before the smoothness of his expression took over again.

            “Maybe I’m trying to be a nice guy, give you a couple more weeks to live, let you make a few more memories before I do it. Out of the kindness of my heart. Ever think of that?”

            “If you were a nice guy, you wouldn’t be set on becoming a murderer,” Shion pointed out.

            Nezumi’s expression flinched. “Who says I need to become one? Who says I’m not one already?”

            By now, Shion knew Nezumi. He knew Nezumi did not say things he did not mean, unless he was being sarcastic, which was often enough for Shion to know this wasn’t the case now.

            Shion knew Nezumi thought he had to kill him. Shion knew that Nezumi was fully convinced of this. Shion knew Nezumi was very serious, that it was not an empty threat, but also that Nezumi did not want to do it.

            Shion did not know what to do about these facts. While Shion knew Nezumi, there was still much he didn’t know about him, such as the past he never spoke about.

            There were secrets in this past. It wasn’t as simple, Shion had figured out, as Nezumi’s people dying. There was something else, as if the death of his village wasn’t enough. Something more that plagued Nezumi, that he would never speak about, that Shion was scared to ask him to speak about.

            “I don’t think you’re a murderer, Nezumi.”

            “As I constantly find myself reminding you, you don’t know everything,” Nezumi snapped.

            “Then tell me! Talk to me! You don’t have to bottle everything up, you don’t have to deal with everything on your own. You’re not alone, Nezumi. Not anymore, and you don’t ever have to be alone again if you just talk to me.”

            Nezumi stared at him for a second, and then there was the loud scratch of the legs of his chair scraping the floor as he pushed back from the table and turned around, stalking out of the pizza place.

            Shion sat still for a second, then quickly got up, relieved they’d had to pay beforehand as he ran out the door to follow Nezumi – an easy man to follow, with his hood pulled over his head to hide himself from everyone else.

            Shion caught up to him right as he was about to cross the street, pulled at his sleeve until it was wrenched away from him.

            “Nezumi. I’m sorry. I won’t pry, I shouldn’t have said anything, I know you don’t want to talk about your past, and I don’t mean to pressure you. I just want to help.”

            “If you don’t shut up, I’ll light the sidewalk on fire,” Nezumi snapped.

            “No, you won’t,” Shion argued, and Nezumi turned so quickly his hood slipped off, revealing him, just as they made it across the street.

            “Yes, I will,” Nezumi said, the silver of his eyes hard and cold, and Shion shook his head.

            Nezumi was good. He refused to see it, there was something in his past preventing him from seeing it, but Shion knew it was the truth. “You won’t, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi looked at Shion for just a moment, then glanced behind him at the sidewalk stretching out along the tiny shops. “You don’t know me, Shion,” he said, and just like that the sidewalk was ablaze, a line of fire starting from Nezumi’s feet and racing down the sidewalk with people jumping out of the way, a few screaming.

            Shion stared. A woman’s coat had caught fire. There were children pressing their bodies against the storefronts, clearly terrified. The fire kept spreading, past where Shion could see.

            “Nezumi,” Shion breathed.

            “I’m not your friend, Shion.”

            “Put it out. Nezumi, put it out. This isn’t funny.”

            “I don’t care about you. I don’t give a shit about any of these people.”

            Shion was pulling Nezumi’s sleeve. People were staring at him. He was recognized. The woman had shed her coat and thrown it away from her and was shielding her children. The shouts were growing louder. The fire kept spreading.

            “Nezumi, put it out!”

            “Say I’m not your friend.”

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Say it!”

            At Nezumi’s shout, the fire grew, catching on the awnings hanging down from storefronts, spreading quickly over the roofs. There was the distant sound of sirens.

            “You’re not my friend,” Shion breathed, looking away from the fire to see that it was reflected almost perfectly the silver of Nezumi’s eyes, as if they weren’t eyes at all but mirrors, entirely made of glass.

            And then his eyes were empty of anything, and the fire from the sidewalk and awnings and clothing of passerby was coating Nezumi’s entire body, and Shion couldn’t look away from it, watched in fascination as it seeped into Nezumi’s skin and then was gone completely.

            The screaming had not stopped, but changed. Shion forced himself to look away from Nezumi, saw the awnings smoking, but other than that, not much harm seemed to have been done. No one had gotten hurt, from what Shion could tell. But they could have. So easily.

            The sirens were almost deafening now, and Shion stared back at Nezumi to see that Nezumi was still looking at him.

            There was something in his gaze that burned, but Shion made himself ignore the feeling. “They’ll come after you. You need to run.”

            Nezumi did not appear concerned. “You’re the one who needs to run, Shion,” he said, and then the flashing lights of the police cruisers were coating Nezumi’s skin where there had only just been fire, and Shion wanted to reach out, touch the man, see if his skin was hot or if there was no trace of the fire at all, almost like it had never been there in the first place, almost as if it had all been a trick.

            “Put your hands up!”

            The police were pointing guns at Nezumi, who looked at them for a moment, then reached up his hands.

            “Move, Shion. If they shoot at me, you might get hit.”

            “What? Nezumi – ” Shion could hardly contemplate what was happening. Ten minutes ago, he’d been stealing a pepperoni off of Nezumi’s plate.

            “Get on your knees! If there’s any trace of a fire, even a spark, we shoot. Do you understand?”

            “Sure thing, officer,” Nezumi said, and he dropped to his knees, then glanced again over his shoulder at Shion. “Move, Shion.”

            “You’re going to let them arrest you?”

            “No talking! Sir, please move away from the FireMaster!”

            “Listen to the officer like a good boy,” Nezumi said, throwing Shion a loose smile.

            “I said no talking!”

            Shion moved away so Nezumi would stop talking and they wouldn’t shoot him. He didn’t understand. Everything had been fine ten minutes ago. Everything had been fine.

            Two officers were walking slowly towards Nezumi. A firetruck had pulled up behind the police cruisers, and firemen were standing around with hoses as if wary Nezumi might light another fire.

            Shion, too, was unsure what Nezumi would do. He couldn’t see Nezumi allowing himself to be arrested. He worried Nezumi would light the officers on fire. It didn’t matter that he was on his knees. It didn’t matter that his hands were up. He could spread fire without moving an inch. He could conjure fire like an exhale of breath, perhaps even more easily than that.

            “No need to look so scared, I’m not going to hurt you,” Nezumi was saying with clear amusement to an officer, who clicked off the safety on the gun in his hand.

            “No talking!”

            “What, or you’ll shoot me? Kill the last surviving FireMaster? You really want that on your conscience? I’m an endangered species, the last of my kind. You’d be depriving the world of a truly, by definition, one-of-a-kind phenomenon.”

            Shion closed his eyes. He wanted Nezumi to shut up. He hated that amused voice. He knew it was all fake. He didn’t know what Nezumi was feeling underneath it, but he knew that he was putting on an act.

            Shion could hear the click of handcuffs. There were no shouts. He opened his eyes to see that Nezumi had been handcuffed and blindfolded and an officer was jerking him up from his knees.

            “I like the blindfold, it’s a nice touch. But you should know, I don’t shoot fire from my eyes, so it doesn’t really do much.”

            “Shut up,” an officer snapped, shoving Nezumi, who almost tripped but righted himself.

            “Just curious, if I light a fire and you shoot me, who’s going to put it out?”

            “I said shut up! We’ve got an entire fire department here to take care of that.”

            “Oh, I can light fires they can’t put out. Want to see?”

            The officer pulling on Nezumi’s wrists to drag him to the police car let go in order to shove the butt of his gun right up against the side of Nezumi’s head.

            Shion stepped forward. He wanted to say something. That Nezumi was just kidding. Was just lying. Let him go. Just let him go.

            But Shion stayed silent.

            “The guy with the white hair. You told him to move away so he didn’t get shot, right?” the officer asked, and Shion froze at the same moment he could see Nezumi stiffen.

            “What about him?” Nezumi asked quietly.

            “You’ve got a blindfold on so you don’t know where anything is. You start a fire, it might catch on your friend. You really wanna take that risk?”

            Nezumi jerked away from the officer, stumbled again, righted himself again. “He’s not my friend.”

            “Then go on ahead and start your fire, if you’ve got nothing to lose,” the officer said.

            Shion could see Nezumi’s shoulders tense, and then they dropped suddenly, as did his chin, lowering so that he was staring at the ground – or not, what with the blindfold.

            He said nothing, and the officer laughed.

            “That’s what I thought. Get in, FireMaster, and I wouldn’t set the car on fire if I were you. If the driver loses control, you’re as dead as everyone else.”

            The cruiser door was open, and Nezumi shoved through without protest.

            Shion turned away. Didn’t want to see this docile Nezumi that he couldn’t recognize. He could hear the car start, the sound of tires, and then the sirens were fading, and then they were gone completely, and so was Nezumi.

*

Nezumi was thrown in solitary. He’d asked a guard if the walls were fireproof and had received a slam in the gut by that stick all the guards held.

            When Nezumi had asked if he was getting a lawyer, very politely, if he might have said so himself, they slammed the door on the end of his question without a reply.

            Nezumi took that as a no.

            He knew no one had been hurt. He’d be charged for destruction of public property, probably have to pay a fine to fix the damage and maybe a few extra hundred or so for emotional damage of the citizens.

            Nezumi didn’t have that kind of money, but he wasn’t concerned with it. He was concerned with the other possible charge they could levy against him – A public menace. A danger to society.

            Which he was. He could light the entire prison on fire if he chose to. He could light the city on fire if he felt like it. He was a danger to the people, and it was about time someone took notice.

*

Shion was refused visitation rights for a full week before Safu advised him that now was a good time to flaunt his public stature.

            “Public stature?”

            “You brought clean water back to the entire country, Shion. That affords you certain privileges, if you would stop being humble enough to use them.”

            So Shion returned to the prison one week after Nezumi’s arrest. He had to weave his way through the protesters on the street that he’d gotten used to on his daily – sometimes twice-daily – attempts to visit Nezumi.

            Half the protesters were demanding a fair trial for the last surviving FireMaster. Others were insisting he was a public menace and needed to be locked up for the safety of the population. A few amongst the latter group had picket signs that simply said _MONSTER!_

            Shion thought Nezumi might have been amused by this, though the signs worried him.

            Sure enough, when Shion stood up straight and offered his ID badge to the guard at the visitation desk, questioning in a commanding voice he rarely used whether or not the guard knew who he was, the guard blinked in sheepishness.

            “Of course I know who you are, sir, but there are policies – ”

            “I will not ask again to speak with my friend. He is afforded certain rights as a prisoner of the people, and you will allow him those rights or I will speak to your supervisor about your complete disregard for humanity and disrespect for me.”

            The guard stared for a moment, clearly upset. Shion was glad it was a different guard from the previous day, who had seemed more sure of himself and likely would not have cared who Shion was.

            This guy seemed new. Shion felt bad, but then the guard was sliding him a visitation badge, and Shion’s guilt was overlaid with relief.

            “We can’t remove him from solitary, so you’ll have to visit him in his cell. We have protective suits, they’re not entirely fireproof but – ”

            “I don’t need one,” Shion replied, and the guard did not press the point.

            Nezumi’s cell was at the opposite end of the prison. The door of it was thick and grey with the smallest square window roughly the size of a palm covered in warped glass that was nearly impossible to see through. There was a small paneled slit at the bottom which Shion assumed they opened to give Nezumi his meals.

            The guard rapped on the door, shouted, “Visitor!” then typed a code into the keypad and wrenched open the door after the loud buzz that followed.

            Shion walked forward without looking in, glancing instead at the guard. “I’ll knock when I’m done,” he said, before the guard could give him a time limit, and the guard just nodded before closing the door behind Shion, who finally turned around.

            The cell was extremely small. Shion doubted he could lie down in it without having to bend his knees either way across. Maybe diagonally, but even that he couldn’t be sure of.

            There was no furniture, but a toilet in one corner and a bulb dangling by its own wires from the ceiling that blinked once when Shion glanced at it.

            “It’s been doing that every five minutes. I appreciate it, it allows me to keep track of the time. It’s half past six in the afternoon, am I right?”

            Shion looked at his watch so he wouldn’t have to look at Nezumi, sitting against the wall opposite the toilet.

            “It’s ten fifteen in the morning, Nezumi,” he said quietly.

            “Dammit, I was even getting cocky about my timekeeping,” Nezumi said, good naturedly, like it was all a joke, and Shion finally looked at him fully rather than just out his peripherals.

            Nezumi sat with his back against the wall, his legs pulled up and his arms hanging over his knees. His head was tilted back against the wall, and he looked not at Shion but the ceiling. His hair was in a loose braid over one shoulder, but there were strings of hair that had escaped the braid, and his bangs were scattered over his forehead.

            He had dark stubble over the bottom half of his face, and Shion was amazed at this, had never seen Nezumi with facial hair before. He wore the clothes he’d come in with, the clothes he’d worn when Shion met him outside the pizza place one week before – dark jeans and a light blue button-up shirt, unbuttoned over a white t-shirt. His jacket was bunched in a corner by his side.

            The cell smelled, but Shion didn’t say anything about this. He walked over to his friend and lowered himself across from him, sitting so close that his legs touched Nezumi’s socks.

            They’d taken away his shoes, Shion noted, looking down.

            “Are you okay?” Shion studied Nezumi’s face. The man wouldn’t look at him. He looked skinnier, and Shion wondered if they were feeding him. He quickly looked away to scan the small room, see if there was a tray for food he might have missed somehow despite the barrenness of the room, but of course, there was nothing.

            On turning back to Nezumi, it was to find Nezumi looking at him, expressionless but for a softness in the otherwise flat of his eyes.

            He looked tired.

            “Did you really brag?” Nezumi asked, and his voice was scratchy. He cleared it.

            “What?” Shion wished he’d thought to bring Nezumi a bottle of water. Maybe he was dehydrated.

            “I’m not allowed visitors. They wouldn’t have let you in if you didn’t brag about your importance to the country, blah blah blah, you solved the water crisis and saved lives and whatever, you have a right to visit whatever outlaw you see fit,” Nezumi said, smirking, but the tilt of his lips was lazier than usual.

            When Shion had imagined Nezumi in this cell, he had seen the man plotting. Devising an escape. He had imagined the man’s eyes at their sharpest silver, he had imagined his friend energized, angry, ready to break out.

            He had not imagined this.

            “Nezumi, do you know what day it is?” Shion asked.

            “So that’s a yes, then, you did brag. I’m impressed, I thought you were too humble for that.”

            “Do you know how long you’ve been in here?”

            Nezumi shrugged. “After that embarrassing blunder with my lack of timing skills, I don’t really care to guess.”

            “It’s Friday. March twelfth. You’ve been in here for a full week.”

            At this, Nezumi sat up a little, his eyes narrowing. “Only?” he asked, but so quietly Shion wasn’t sure if he’d only imagined the word, the slight move of Nezumi’s cracked lips.

            “Have you asked for a lawyer? Or if there’s going to be a trial? There needs to be a trial, you have to demand that. They can’t just keep you here. You didn’t even hurt anyone.”

            Nezumi looked back up at the ceiling. “Do you know what would happen if I lit a fire in here?”

            Shion leaned forward. He wanted to touch the man, but was scared that he’d feel Nezumi’s bones under his skin too easily. “Are you listening to me?”

            “It’s a small room. A fire would eat up the oxygen in a minute, seconds even, a FireMaster’s fire devours more oxygen than a normal fire. I’d suffocate almost instantly.”

            Shion stared at his friend. He didn’t recognize him. He didn’t know what had been done to Nezumi in this prison, but it seemed to have broken him.

            Maybe he’d been left alone too long with his own thoughts. Nezumi was never good at sitting still. He didn’t even have a book in here to distract him.

            “Nezumi.”

            “No one talks about that part of fire. Everyone thinks the danger is in the flame itself. In the burning. They forget about the smoke. The way it clouds the lungs. The impossibility of breathing.”

            Shion felt as though his pulse was shaking just underneath the surface of his skin. He felt terrified for his friend he couldn’t recognize. He sat up, leaned forward, reached out and cupped Nezumi’s cheek, felt the bristle of Nezumi’s stubble, the thin hollow of his skin, the bones of his jawline and cheek, and then Nezumi’s eyes were sliding back to him.

            “What did they do to you? Where are you?” Shion asked quietly.

            Nezumi’s lips lifted at the corner. “I bet you never consider what a privilege it is to breathe, do you, Shion? I bet you’ve never even thought about it.”

            Shion dropped his hand from Nezumi’s cheek. “I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” Shion stood up. He had work to do. A trial to start. Lawyers to call. He couldn’t let Nezumi stay in here any longer.

            “Shion.”

            Shion was already at the door, had knocked on it three times to summon the guard.

            He glanced back around at Nezumi sitting against the wall.

            “Visit me tomorrow,” Nezumi said, nearly a whisper, and Shion felt as if his breath was stolen from him.

            Is this what if felt like, to suffocate? To have lungs filled with smoke?

            “I promise,” Shion agreed, and then the door was opening, and the guard was shouting at Nezumi to stay put even though Nezumi hadn’t moved, didn’t look as though he could move if he wanted to, and Shion was leaving the small cell, and the guard was slamming the door shut behind him, and the keypad was buzzing again as it locked Nezumi back inside.

*

The moment he heard the keypad buzz, the sign that he was safely locked away once more, Nezumi stood up. He undid his braid, weaved his fingers through his hair to comb it out, redid the braid more tightly and pushed his bangs off his forehead.

            He scratched at his growing beard. It was itchy and annoyed him. The guards could have some common decency to give him a blade to shave.

            Nezumi stretched, then dropped back down to finish the sets of push-ups he’d been in the middle of when the guard had knocked to announce Shion’s presence. It was about time the guy had made a visit. Nezumi had been wondering what the hell was taking him so long.

            If Shion had never showed up, his plan would never have worked.

            After his push-ups, Nezumi began sit ups, careful to pace himself and not breathe too hard, not use too much oxygen from the box of his room. He’d done so the first day, not thinking, and ended up dizzy until a guard had opened the slit at the bottom of the door to throw in Nezumi’s sandwich, and a bit more oxygen had been let in.

            After his exercises, Nezumi glanced at the tally marks he’d been scratching into the wall of his cell each morning that he’d covered with his back when Shion came in. Fourteen tallies.

            It irked Nezumi, how easily Shion could be fooled as to the deterioration of Nezumi’s mental state. How little did the guy think of him? But Nezumi had been relying on that naivety for his plan anyway, so he had no business being bothered.

            Nezumi walked around the room to stretch his legs, closing his eyes and guiding himself with his hand skating along the walls as he quietly recited the entirety of _Macbeth_ under his breath. After that, he moved onto _Hamlet,_ then _King Lear,_ then _Titus Andronicus._ He found that reciting violent plays was most rewarding. He had to keep his mental acuity intact. He knew solitude could debilitate most men after only a few days, but Nezumi had always been good with being on his own. The mind was a muscle like any other. It just needed exercise to stay in shape.

            After reciting the four plays, Nezumi took a break by lying in the center of his cell, knees bent. He watched the light bulb, which they turned off every night at nine and turned on again at six in the morning. It blinked every half hour. Nezumi had watched it and counted these blinks the first two days. It did not make him feel insane. It made him feel in control.

            Two hours later, Nezumi resumed his stretches, walked around his room again, recited more plays, and began to wait for his afternoon meal. They fed him twice a day, at seven in the morning and at five at night. Two slices of bread for breakfast, two slices of bread with a slice of cheese between them for dinner. A bottle of water with each meal that they only let Nezumi keep for an hour, so he had to chug it before slipping it back through the slit at the bottom of the door when they knocked and opened it.

            The routine of it was easy enough to get used to. Nezumi had gotten a free place to sleep and free meals for a full week. It wasn’t too bad a deal.

            But he was ready to leave. Nezumi preferred not to stay in one place for too long, especially on the commands of others. And so the next day, when Shion came to visit, Nezumi would bid farewell to his little cell, and he doubted he’d miss it.

*


	3. Chapter 3

Shion spent the first hour after visiting Nezumi shouting at the guards about the terrible state Nezumi was in.

            Demanding that they give him more water and food, that they let him have outdoor time, that he was weak and going to go crazy if they didn’t let him out for fresh air at least once a day.

            The guards attempted to calm Shion down, but he was fuming. The guards only seemed relieved to hear that Nezumi was so weak. Less of a threat, they told him, which had Shion yelling more, threatening to sue the entire prison, and he certainly had the resources and means to do so.

            He would have yelled at them longer, but didn’t want to waste time, and left in anger to contact lawyers as well as Safu, who was better at fixing problems than anyone Shion knew.

            Shion would get Nezumi out of that cell. He swore this to himself.

*

That night, for Nezumi’s afternoon meal, two sandwiches and two bottles of water were shoved through the slot before the panel was again slammed closed.

            Nezumi smiled at his meal, opened the sandwiches to see that they’d included some type of meat alongside his usual slice of cheese.

            He knew he could count on Shion to make a fuss. The guy was too righteous for his own good. Had to make every problem his own problem, had to solve everything, fix everyone’s lives.

            It was useful, having a guy like that on his own side.

            Nezumi chugged the first bottle of water before touching the food, then ate half a sandwich, did some stretches, and ate the other half. He saved the second and sipped from his second bottle of water more slowly, wondering if he would have to return this one in an hour as well, or if he could keep this one through the night.

            He had a feeling he’d be allowed to keep it. Shion was a stubborn and influential person, and clearly his anger had made quite an impression on the guards.

            The plan was in motion.

*

When they let Shion in the small cell the next morning, Nezumi was sitting in the very same spot, and Shion wondered for a moment if the man had moved at all in the twenty-four hours since Shion had left him.

            His hair was in the same side braid, loose and unraveling. Shion gritted his teeth as the cell door slammed closed behind him.

            “Hi,” Shion said, going to sit across from Nezumi as he had the previous day. “I’ve been talking to lawyers. Your trial should start soon. I’m aiming for within the week, and if it’s a fair trial then there’s no way they’ll be able to find you guilty of anything that’ll have you serving more jail time. You’ll have to pay a fine for city damages, but that’s it. And I think I’ve managed to convince them to give you some outdoor time until you’re let out on bail.”

            Shion couldn’t be sure that Nezumi was listening to what he was saying. The man’s eyes were on him, skating over his features in a lazy, unfocused way.

            “Nezumi. Are they feeding you proper meals? I told them to. If they’re not, tell me. I have influence. I can help you.”

            Nezumi looked at him a second more, then opened his cracked lips. “I’m fine, Shion.”        

            His voice was hardly a breath. He did not sound fine.

            Shion stood up. He started pacing, but the room was too small, he could hardly even do that. His hands were in fists. “This isn’t right. They’re treating you – They’re treating you like you’re some monster! Doesn’t that bother you, Nezumi? Aren’t you angry?” He was shouting without meaning to. His voice bounced around the walls of the small cell. He wanted to break something, hurt someone, and these were feelings Shion had never had.

            They surprised him, but not by much. More than that, he felt as though he should have been angry long before now. He shouldn’t have waited so long, to feel something that burned him from the inside out.

            “Why shouldn’t they?”

            Nezumi’s voice was so quiet Shion could hardly hear it over the echo of his shouts. He stopped pacing, stared down at Nezumi, who was looking down at his hands in his lap.

            “What?” Shion crouched down beside Nezumi. Looked at him closely. Could smell the sweat on him, salty and musky.

            “Why shouldn’t they treat me like a monster?” Nezumi asked, glancing up at Shion, his eyes rising slow as if gravity protested his movements.

            “Because you’re not one.” Shion spoke very evenly, needing Nezumi to understand this as clearly as he did.

            “Someone could have died.”

            “No one died. No one even got hurt. Burnt clothing, but that was it. Not even first degree burns,” Shion said slowly. He had a suspicion that this was not an accident. What had happened on the sidewalk was not like what had happened to Shion’s oven mitt. Nezumi was fully in control of that fire, maybe more in control than anyone could guess.

            Shion knew, without having any basis for his knowledge, that it was because of Nezumi that the fire had not touched anyone’s skin. It had seemed out of control, it had seemed reckless, but it had not been.

            Nezumi was not a monster. He only wanted people to think he was – he only wanted Shion himself to think he was – and Shion could not figure out why.

            “How lucky,” Nezumi said, after a moment, but Shion knew it wasn’t luck.

            “Do you want to stay in here, Nezumi? Are you trying to punish yourself? Is that it?” Shion asked, and Nezumi closed his eyes, tilted his head back against the wall.

            “I’m tired,” he whispered.

            Worry pinched at Shion’s stomach. “Nezumi. You need to hang in there. You can’t give up. They’re feeding you, right?”

            “Mmm,” Nezumi hummed, and Shion wanted to reach out, shake the man’s shoulders, force him awake, force him to snap back into his old self.

            Instead, he touched Nezumi’s arm gently. “I’m going to go now. But I’ll come back. And I’ll get you out of here.”

            Nezumi said nothing. He appeared to be asleep. Shion squeezed his arm for a moment, then stood up, returned to Nezumi’s cell door, knocked three times.

            There was the sound of typing on the keypad, then the buzzing of the door being unlocked, then the door opening slowly, then wider, and as Shion stepped out he felt a sudden movement behind him, and then there was Nezumi beside him, his palm slamming loudly against the inside of the door so that it swung all the way open, striking the side of the wall.

            The guard had shouted and was already reaching for the gun in his waist holster. Shion opened his mouth to warn Nezumi, but then his warning turned into a shout of surprise as the guard’s hand lit on fire.

            “Shit!” the guard shouted, dropping his gun, which was caught by the Nezumi, the fire immediately swept from his hand and into the pale skin of Nezumi’s wrist.

            “Don’t!” Shion shouted, worried Nezumi would shoot the guard, but when he looked at Nezumi it was to see that the prisoner was not pointing the gun at the guard at all.

            The gun was pointed directly at Shion, who blinked at its barrel before looking around it at Nezumi.

            The man’s eyes were sharp as ever. He was completely alert, awake, attentive.

            Shion blinked, then realized. Nezumi was a good actor after all. He had been putting on a show the entire time.

            Nezumi gave him a quick smile as he pressed the gun to Shion’s temple, then looked away from Shion to the guard.

            “Try anything, and he’s dead.” There was no weakness in Nezumi’s voice. Gone was the whisper, the half-breathed words. It was loud and clear and strong.

            “Take it easy,” the guard said slowly, staring with wide eyes from his hand he’d been inspecting to the gun pointed at Shion.

            “I’d rather not,” Nezumi replied. “Move.”

            Shion felt as the gun pushed into his temple. His pulse was quick, but he was not worried. He knew Nezumi would not shoot him.

            It was smart, however, to take him as a hostage. Shion knew he was valued in the city, in the entire country at that. The guards would not risk his life even to capture Nezumi’s.

            Another push of the gun, and Shion winced, started walking, the gun sliding around to the back of his head.

            “Go to the exit. You lead.”

            The guard moved ahead of Shion, though he glanced back frequently.

            “Is your hand okay?” Shion asked, needing to verify his suspicion.

            He could see the guard lift it again, look at it as he had been before.

            “I think so,” he said, sounding confused, but Shion understood.

            Nezumi had somehow been able to wrap the fire around the guard’s hand without making it actually touch his skin. Enough to scare the guard, not enough to burn him.

            “You shouldn’t talk when you have a gun to your head,” Nezumi said, his voice low behind Shion, the gun pushing into the back of his head.

            Shion said nothing. He was trying not to smile, as he figured that wouldn’t bode well for verifying the legitimacy of the hostage situation Nezumi had put him in. Shion was happy to play along. He knew Nezumi was not a monster. He’d known it all along.

            They crossed the prison into the lobby of the main entrance. At the sight of them, an alarm suddenly sounded, no doubt triggered by one of the guards behind a desk. Guns were whipped out in seconds, and Shion counted seven guards surrounding them instantly.

            “Drop your weapons,” Nezumi said, loudly but calmly, and at the same moment all of the guards’ hands burst into flame.

            There was shouting and the clatter of guns on the floor.

            “Kick them in the corner,” Nezumi ordered, and the guards did as told, most of them inspecting their hands still.

            It occurred to Shion, as he glanced at Nezumi, that the gun in Nezumi’s own hand was rather superfluous. He had the power of fire, much more frightening, in Shion’s opinion, than a gun.

            “Why are you holding a gun to my head?” Shion asked, and when Nezumi glanced at him, he remembered he was supposed to be a hostage, and frightened, and not questioning his captor on the method of his threat.

            “Because you’re a hostage. Stop talking,” Nezumi said, looking back at the guards.

            Shion didn’t clarify that he’d meant why a gun over fire. He supposed he could ask Nezumi later. Now was probably not the best time; the man was rather preoccupied with escaping from prison.

            “You’re going to let me leave. You’re not going to follow me.”

            “Put the gun down, Nezumi,” a guard said, and it surprised Shion that she said Nezumi’s name.

            “If you let me leave, I won’t hurt your precious prized scientist.”

            “I’m not a scientist, I’m an engineer,” Shion corrected, out of habit of having to correct Nezumi constantly.

            The gun pressed harder against his head.

            “Will you be quiet?”

            “Nezumi. We know you won’t hurt him. Just put the gun down.”

            “You don’t know that,” Nezumi said, and his voice was hard.

            Shion glanced at him. The flatness of his profile.

            The guard stepped forward, her hands up. “It’s okay, Nezumi. Give me the gun.”

            “Step back,” Nezumi warned, and Shion, for a moment, wondered if he was wrong about Nezumi, if the man would indeed hurt him in order to escape.

            The guard took another step forward. “He’s your friend, isn’t he? You won’t hurt him.”

            Nezumi froze for a moment, then dropped his hand and threw the gun into the pile with the others.

            Shion felt the briefest moment of relief, and then he was on fire.

            He shouted, then heard Nezumi’s voice – “Stand very still.”

            The voice was low, quiet, hidden underneath the shouts of the guards that Shion couldn’t see because there was fire over his eyes – over them, but not touching them. An inch away. He was completely cocooned in flame, he realized, but it didn’t touch him.

            Even so, Shion could feel the heat radiating off of it. The crackle of it tickled his ears. He didn’t breathe, worried an inhale would suck the fire into his lungs.

            “Nezumi,” he whispered. He felt the fire tremble at his lips, like it was something living.

            “Trust me,” Nezumi said – his voice again a breath under the shouts of the guards who definitely could not hear him, and Shion wondered if he was only imagining Nezumi’s voice altogether.

            His eyes burned. His skin burned. He was burning but he knew that he was not being touched by the flame.

            He needed to breathe but was terrified to. He trusted Nezumi, but he didn’t trust himself not to move. There was sweat on his hairline, dripping down.

            “Nezumi, please.”

            “Stand against the wall. Now, all of you, that wall, go,” Nezumi was saying. His voice was blurred by the fire over Shion’s ears. Shion closed his eyes because the light of the flame was blinding. His eyelids were painted bright oranges and reds.

            Shion couldn’t hold his breath any longer. He inhaled slowly through his lips, felt as though he could taste the flame, didn’t know if this was in his imagination or not. There was shouting around him but he stopped listening to it. He concentrated only on being completely still.

            And then there was something like a strong wind over him, and the streaks of brightness over Shion’s eyelids were gone, and he opened his eyes to see ropes of fire whipping away from him and moving instead to form a curtain across the middle of the lobby,

            On one side of the curtain were the guards pressed flat against the wall of the lobby, and then the flames rose up and hid them and Shion could no longer make them out.

            On the other side of the curtain of flames were Nezumi and Shion.

            Shion wiped at his forehead, his hand coming back slick with sweat.

            “Move, you’re still a hostage,” Nezumi said, glancing at Shion in a sweeping way as if checking him for injury, perhaps, though Shion wasn’t entirely certain.

            Shion couldn’t move. Nezumi had taken a few steps, seemed to notice Shion was not with him, and turned back.

            “Let’s go,” Nezumi said, nothing in his voice at all, and he grabbed Shion’s hand, squeezed it, pulled him to the exit and then out the station.

            The air outside was extremely cool compared to the heat of the lobby. Shion glanced behind him as Nezumi started pulling him into a run.

            “The officers – ”

            “I’ll remove the flames when we’re far enough away,” Nezumi interrupted.

            “Where are we going?”

            “Your place. They might look for me there, but you can act outraged at the thought that you’d house the monster who took you hostage. You do know how to lie, right?”

            Shion didn’t reply. He was out of breath. He’d been out of breath since Nezumi coated him in fire. He could hardly run, it hurt his lungs, his heart was racing too quickly for his body to keep up with it.

            “Nezumi, I – ” his hand was sweaty and slipping from Nezumi’s grip, and then Nezumi was tightening his fingers, jerking Shion’s arm so that Shion was forced to follow him into an alleyway where Nezumi let him go.

            “Sit down,” Nezumi said, then disappeared, and Shion did as he was told because his legs couldn’t hold him up any longer.

            He closed his eyes, not caring to see where Nezumi had gone, not caring to know where he was. He wanted only to catch his breath.

            After a minute, he felt his pulse slowing down, if only marginally. Enough so that he was no longer worried for his heart. After another minute, he opened his eyes to see that he was in the middle of some darkened alleyway between two buildings, and a minute after that, Nezumi was returning with a bottle of water.

            He crouched beside Shion, who took the water after Nezumi opened it.

            “Where did you get this?” Shion asked, then downed half the bottle.

            “Just concentrate on breathing.”

            Shion chugged more water, started coughing and then full-on choking, felt Nezumi’s hand on his shoulder.

            He looked up at Nezumi through watering eyes to see Nezumi’s concerned expression, a heavy grey.

            “Inhale and exhale, Shion, you can do it.”

            Shion didn’t break Nezumi’s gaze as he forced himself to breathe normally. When his breaths had deepened, Nezumi took his hand away from Shion’s shoulder.

            “You lit me on fire,” Shion said.

            “Did you get burned anywhere?”

            “That’s not the point.”

            “I’m asking out of concern. Did you get burned anywhere?” Nezumi repeated, and Shion glared at him.

            “You don’t get to be concerned after you lit me on fire,” he snapped.

            “I didn’t light you on fire, I lit the air around you on fire.”

            “I could have sneezed or something! I could have moved an inch, and I would have been burned! You were distracted with the officers, you wouldn’t have noticed!” Shion shouted.

            “I would have noticed,” Nezumi replied, his voice hard, but Shion thought there was something in his eyes that didn’t look as convinced. “I had to do it.”

            “No, you didn’t, actually,” Shion said, then pushed himself up from the ground, but his legs were still shaking and he stayed leaning against the wall.

            Nezumi stood up quickly. “You should rest more before we have to go.”

            “Why do you think I’d even let you stay at my apartment? You’re a fugitive, remember?” he demanded, and Nezumi raised an eyebrow.

            “Because you’re selfless and care about others more than yourself. A character flaw, but I might as well take advantage.” Nezumi smiled lightly, but Shion was not amused.

            “You risked my life, Nezumi.”

            The smile disappeared. “I didn’t. I was in control.”

            “I was terrified! I couldn’t breathe!” Shion shouted.

            Nezumi looked away from him, and Shion could see the clench of his jaw through the tightening of his skin.

            “We should get going,” Nezumi finally said, and he turned and walked away, and Shion tightened his fist around the water bottle that he still held before following him out the alley.

            “Did you move your fire yet? From the prison?”

            “Are we in the clear yet?”

            “Nezumi! The smoke could kill them, isn’t that what you told me?”

            Nezumi stopped walking abruptly, then turned around, reached out the same way he had in Shion’s kitchen and curled his finger towards himself.

            After half a minute, a cord of flame was hurtling towards Nezumi, going straight into his wrist and almost illuminating his skin as he absorbed it.

             “Happy?”

            “Someone might have gotten hurt from that. Someone walking across the street.”

            “Hopefully they were taught to look both ways before crossing,” Nezumi replied dryly, walking again towards Shion’s apartment, and Shion stepped quickly to catch up.

            “You pretend not to care about people, but if you really didn’t, you would have burned the hands of those officers for real. You would have burned me for real.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind for my next prison escape.”

            “You should apologize for using me.”

            “Will it get you to shut up?” Nezumi asked, sighing. He was undoing his braid and tying his hair up.

            They were close to Shion’s apartment building, and Shion realized this was why Nezumi did not seem hurried. He knew he was safe. He probably knew the officers would be hesitant to catch up with him. Would be scared to catch up with him.

            “Probably not, but it would make me a little less pissed at you,” Shion muttered.

            Nezumi, not surprisingly, did not apologize.

            At least, not until they were in the elevator of Shion’s building, Nezumi taking off the hood he’d pulled over his head as they’d walked through the entrance.

            “Shion.” Nezumi said, as Shion pressed the button for his floor.

            Shion looked at him.

            “I know that must have been frightening. I’m sorry.” Nezumi spoke slowly and deliberately, like he was choosing each word carefully before he said it. He did not look at Shion, but at the rows of buttons on the elevator wall.

            There was no hint of his usual sarcasm. Shion stared at the man’s profile, tried to understand him, how he could apologize for this when every other day he was promising Shion he would have to kill him at some point.

            Shion chose not to remind Nezumi of this fact at the moment. He nodded as the elevator doors opened.

            “It’s okay,” he said, and Nezumi looked at him then.

            “How is it okay?” he asked, almost angrily, taking Shion aback, but then he was out of the elevator and walking down to Shion’s door, and it was clear to Shion that he had not asked the question in order to be answered.

            He had asked the question in order to make Shion reconsider. To make Shion realize it was not okay that Nezumi had played with his life so easily, that it was not okay that Nezumi was a fugitive taking harbor in his apartment, that it was not okay that Nezumi swore one day he’d kill Shion.

            And Shion knew, logically, that none of it was okay.

            Even so, he after he unlocked his door, he held it open for Nezumi to enter before walking in himself and closing it behind him.

            Maybe he was letting a monster into his home, but Shion, for all he logically knew otherwise, was utterly okay with that.

*

The woman Shion lived with was less than pleased.

            “You’re a fugitive,” the woman – Safu, Nezumi knew – said, after walking into her apartment and spotting Nezumi standing against the kitchen counter and eating a bowl of cereal.

            “Hello. I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. I’m Nezumi,” Nezumi replied, flashing her what he knew was a charming smile and placing his cereal bowl on the counter to extend a hand.

            “Shion!” Safu called, and Shion emerged from his bedroom, his hair still dripping from the shower he’d taken after insisting Nezumi shower first.

            Apparently, as Shion informed him, Nezumi smelled horrible. In retaliation, Nezumi had not asked Shion’s permission to use Shion’s razor to shave off his growing beard. He ran a hand over the skin of his jaw again, reminded of how nice it was to be clean shaven.

            “Oh, hi, you’re home early, I was going to call you.”

            “He’s a fugitive. You’re making me an accomplice,” Safu replied.

            “Safu, he has nowhere else to go.”

            “There’s prison,” Safu said, glancing swiftly at Nezumi, who laughed.

            He was starting to like this girl. She, at least, had some common sense.

            “You knew I was trying to get him out of prison.”

            “Through a trial that would find him not guilty of any crime worth imprisonment, and thus he would be released on bail as a free member of society. Right now, he’s a fugitive on the run. Is he going to be sleeping here?”

            “I didn’t plan for this either, but I’m not going to send him back out on the street. He’ll get caught and thrown right back in prison.”

            Safu shook her head, walking towards Shion and reaching out, and for a moment, Nezumi thought she was going to punch him, but she only held him beneath the chin and tilted his face down to inspect it.

            “On the news it said he burned you.”

            “He didn’t,” Shion said, after a moment.

            Nezumi picked up his cereal again and resumed eating.

            “I can see that,” Safu replied. She took her hand from Shion’s face. Nezumi could tell they were close, though he’d had an idea of this before. Shion used to talk of Safu frequently.

            “I’m fine, Safu.”

            “It’s common courtesy to talk it over with your roommate before deciding to harbor a fugitive.”

            “I’m sorry. If you really don’t want him here, he won’t stay,” Shion said.

            “What was that?” Nezumi asked, his mouth full of cereal.

            Shion gave him a quick look as if to tell him to shut up, and Nezumi smiled at him until milk dripped out from the corner of his lips.

            He wiped at it with the back of his hand.

            “He can stay as long as it can’t be proven that I know he’s here when the police no doubt show up looking for him. I’m not being associated with this.”

            “What does that mean?” Shion asked.

            “That means he stays in your room, and I don’t hear a word from him.”

            “Guess we won’t be having that Monopoly tournament tonight, hm?” Nezumi piped up, and true to her word, Safu didn’t even glance at him as she stalked out of the kitchen.

            “And tell him to stop eating my cereal!” she shouted back, once she was out of sight. Her shout was punctuated by the slamming of her door.

            “Ah. I didn’t think, I should have discussed this with her beforehand,” Shion mumbled.

            “She seems nice,” Nezumi offered.

            “She’s right, we’re not making her a part of this,” Shion said, looking sharply at Nezumi as if he’d suggested otherwise.

            “Are you going to take away my cereal?”

            “Why are you eating that? You should have a proper meal, look in the fridge for vegetables and start chopping, we’ll make stew.”

            Nezumi went to the fridge but didn’t open it. He looked at Shion, who was rummaging around in some cupboard, straightening up with a cutting board in his hand.

            “What?” he asked, looking back at Nezumi.

            “You can kick me out. Safu is right. They’ll probably look for me here at some point. You’ll be charged for aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

            Shion tilted his head, a crease slipping between his eyes. His hair was wet from his shower, matted down to the sides of his face while the top of it was clumped in disarray. He wore a t-shirt and sweats – the same types of clothing that he’d leant Nezumi, though the clothes were small on Nezumi, and he’d ended up simply folding the legs of Shion’s sweats up in cuffs below his knees.

            “I am fully aware of what I’m doing and the repercussions of my actions, Nezumi,” he finally said, slowly.

            Nezumi scrutinized him. He knew Shion was not stupid.

            But housing a fugitive was a stupid thing to do. Housing Nezumi was a stupid thing to do.

            Nezumi thought about arguing, but then he would be arguing for Shion to kick him out, which was not the wisest choice. He settled on a shrug.

            “If you say so.”

            Shion looked at Nezumi a second more, then pointed at the fridge. “I think we have carrots and celery. Maybe potatoes. Definitely onions,” he said, and Nezumi turned, opened the fridge, and searched for the vegetables as he was asked, figuring if Shion knew what he was doing, there was no use in trying to dissuade him from ruining his own life.

*


	4. Chapter 4

Shion stood beside Nezumi and examined his bedroom.

            “If the police come at night, we can’t have you sleeping on the couch,” he said.

            “I’ll take your bed then, and you sleep on the couch,” Nezumi said, stepping forward to the bed and stretching so that the t-shirt Shion had let him borrow slid up a few inches and exposed the skin of his lower back.

            Shion was disappointed when Nezumi dropped his arms again. “It would be just as suspicious if I was sleeping on the couch, Nezumi.”

            “Sleep on your floor then. I’ve been sleeping on a cement floor the past two weeks, I deserve the bed more,” Nezumi retorted, bending down to remove the books and manuals and files Shion had scattered over his sheets.

            “There’s no room on the floor,” Shion said, unnecessarily, as both of them could clearly see that was the case.

            Shion had not realized how messy he was until he looked around his room now. There were clothes all over, as well as stacks of books, work papers, boxes of legal documents he’d been reading through for the patent, more boxes of research material on water filtration he hadn’t gotten around to returning to the library, textbooks he read for enjoyment, cookbooks he’d checked out looking for new recipes to try with his mother at her bakery.

            “It’s like a tornado hit this place,” Nezumi muttered, slipping his legs under Shion’s blanket.

            “We’ll have to share the bed,” Shion decided.

            “You better not kick me,” Nezumi replied, already settled into the bed, his eyes closed.

            Shion looked at him for a moment, then turned off his bedroom light and walked carefully around to the other side of the bed, stubbing his toe on a cookbook and cursing under his breath as he hobbled and finally fell onto the mattress.

            “Stop jumping around,” Nezumi mumbled.

            “You don’t snore, do you?” Shion asked, pulling the small edge of the blanket left for him until Nezumi finally let him have his proper share.

            As his eyes adjusted to the dark of his room, Shion could see Nezumi’s eyes open and find him, his head turning on the pillow Safu had generously offered after Shion had begged for one.

            “No clue,” Nezumi said, and Shion thought about this.

            This meant no one had ever told Nezumi if he snored or not. Which meant no one had ever spent a night with Nezumi.

            Either that, or whomever spent the night with Nezumi had simply chosen not to tell Nezumi if he snored or not.

            Nezumi distracted Shion from his consideration.

            “Do you?”

            “Do I what?” Shion was trying to picture another person sleeping beside Nezumi, who that person might be, what that person might be like.

            “Snore,” Nezumi said, as Shion settled into his own pillow, turning onto his side so he could face Nezumi fully.

            He could feel Nezumi’s warmth spreading across the few inches of mattress that separated them.

            “Sometimes,” Shion admitted. He knew from Safu, whose house he’d slept over countless times as a child.

            “Don’t do it tonight,” Nezumi advised, and Shion smiled.

            “I’ll try not to.”

            Shion watched Nezumi’s eyes close again. Not for the first time, it occurred to Shion how beautiful Nezumi was. It was a privilege to have this man in his bed. To get to see him in those moments before sleep, those moments that so few others were allowed to witness.

            He did not fully understand the FireMaster. He knew many things about him, but amongst those things was an acute knowledge that there was so much more uncovered, so many more secrets than there were truths.

            Shion could feel the mattress shift under his own body as Nezumi slipped one of his hands beneath Safu’s pillow without opening his eyes. Shion thought he didn’t mind so much, that this was a man with secrets.

            That only meant that there was so much more Shion might be able to learn about him, as their lives continued to unfold together.

            “Goodnight, Nezumi,” Shion whispered, and Nezumi shifted, his just a movement of his cheek against pillow, a rustle of his dark hair.

            “G’night,” Nezumi murmured, his voice so soft Shion was almost certain he was already asleep and speaking through a dream.

*

Nezumi dreamt of his name being shouted and woke to it as well, in a different voice, and as consciousness pushed away his nightmare, he realized his name wasn’t being shouted at all.

            It was being spoken in a quiet but urgent way.

            “Nezumi.”      

            Nezumi opened his eyes. He reached up, pushed his bangs – plastered to his forehead with sweat – from his skin.

            “You were shouting,” Shion said.

            Nezumi remembered. He was sleeping in Shion’s bed. He rolled onto his back and pushed his palms over his eyes, wiped the water from them.

            “Sorry,” he murmured. His voice was thick. He was sleepy but did not want to let himself fall sleep again immediately, knowing he might slip back into the same nightmare.

            “Are you okay?”

            “Nightmare. Everyone has nightmares.” Nezumi was starting to feel cold. The sweat on his back had stuck the t-shirt Shion had lent him to his skin and was cooling. Nezumi grappled at his waist for the blanket and couldn’t find it.

            “It’s tangled in your legs,” Shion said quietly, and Nezumi heaved himself up with his elbows, reached down to untangle it.

            He knew Shion was watching him, but couldn’t feel much of anything about this knowledge.

            He was tired. He didn’t want to think.

            His hands fumbled on Shion’s blanket, and then there were Shion’s hands, helping him unravel it, and there was Shion’s voice telling Nezumi to lie down, so he did because he was exhausted, he hadn’t slept properly in eight nights, he hadn’t slept properly in twenty years.

            Nezumi watched Shion free the blanket, felt as Shion settled back beside him, closer now than before so that their shoulders touched, but Nezumi didn’t say anything because he didn’t care.

            He let Shion cover him with the blanket, tuck him in like Nezumi was a child.

            “If you want, we can talk about it,” Shion said.

            Nezumi didn’t know what he shouted in his sleep. He hadn’t even known he shouted in the first place. He couldn’t summon the energy to care at the moment.

            “No, thanks,” Nezumi muttered. He turned so that his back was to Shion, pulled the blanket higher over his shoulder.

            He closed his eyes and waited to fall back asleep, hoping he’d dream of anything but the past, of anywhere but his village, of anyone but his family – anyone but those he’d killed.

*

At half past two in the afternoon, Safu returned from getting lunch with a colleague.

            Shion was glad for the distraction of her arrival and stood up from the couch where he’d been staring at a book, pretending to read it.

            “He’s still not awake,” he said in greeting, joining Safu in the kitchen where she was shedding her coat.

            “He spent eight nights in a prison where they underfed him and made him sleep on cold concrete without a bed or blanket. Let him rest, Shion,” Safu said sternly.

            “Shouldn’t I wake him up to eat something at least?”

            Safu gave Shion a flat look. “No.”

            “Whenever I sleep past eleven you call me a useless member of society,” Shion reminded.

            Safu walked over to the kitchen counter, unbuttoning her jacket. “I didn’t say he wasn’t useless. I said you shouldn’t wake him up. In the meantime, why don’t you figure out what you’ll do when the police come? They might want to search the apartment.”

            “They can’t search without a warrant.” Shion crossed his arms over his chest as Safu slung her jacket across the corner of the kitchen counter and slid onto a stool.

            She rested her arms on the surface of the counter and looked at Shion fully. “Seeing as you were the last person seen with a known fugitive, that could be grounds for a warrant.”

            Shion threw his hands up. “I was his hostage!”

            “You were also the only person on his visitation list. You fought to see him and made a scene of it, Shion. There’s a case to be made that if someone is hiding him, it’s you,” Safu pointed out.

            Shion groaned, fell into the stool across from Safu’s. “You’re right.” He dug his elbows into the counter and covered his face with his hands.

            “Of course I am.”

            “Where are we supposed to hide him?” His voice was muffled by his palms.

            “We?” Safu asked, and Shion peeked at her from between his fingers.

            He dropped his hands to the counter. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I had to bring him here. Like I have to keep him safe.”

            “Why is it always on you to keep everyone safe?” Safu asked, but she smiled lightly and shook her head in amused exasperation, and Shion could tell she hadn’t meant her question to be answered.

            It was a good thing Shion felt no obligation to respond, as he forgot the conversation entirely on hearing the sound of his bedroom door opening.

            A moment later there was the close of the bathroom door, and moments after that the flush of the toilet followed by the run of the sink.

            Shion stood up. “I should make him coffee.”

            “Is he going to be paying some type of rent? Or pitching in for groceries?”

            “Safu, he’s a fugitive, how is he supposed to have a job?”

            “He could work at your mother’s bakery, in the back kitchen where no one would see him,” Safu suggested.

            “I’m not involving my mother in this.” Shion struggled to separate a single coffee filter from the stack.

            “But you’ll involve me,” Safu said, standing up, and Shion turned to apologize again, but his friend was beside him smiling and pushing his hands out of the way to easily pick out a single coffee filter. “I’m kidding, Shion. I don’t mind, really. I only think you have to be more pragmatic about your decisions involving this Nezumi. You’ve been rather…reckless. It’s not like you, and someone needs to worry about you while you’re off worrying about everyone else.”

            Shion blinked at his friend, it only just occurring to him that he _was_ being reckless, and Safu was right, that wasn’t like him.

            He didn’t have to think of a reply, as there was the sound of the bathroom door opening, and then there was Nezumi appearing in the open doorway of the kitchen, looking careworn and sleepy and holding his bangs up out of his eyes with fumbling fingers.

            “Morning,” Shion offered.

            Nezumi just nodded and made a low sound in his throat.

            “We were talking about you,” Safu pitched in, and Shion elbowed her.

            Nezumi blinked blearily at her. “Don’t stop on my account.”

            “Do you have a plan?” Safu asked, while Shion turned to grab a mug for Nezumi’s coffee.

            He didn’t like that Safu was interrogating Nezumi when the man was clearly still in the process of waking up, but he too wondered if Nezumi had anything in mind for what he was going to do next.

            He couldn’t stay a fugitive in Safu and Shion’s apartment forever.

            “Plan?” Nezumi asked, dropping his hand from his bangs so that they fell back over his forehead.

            Shion noted, after he poured water into the coffee machine, that a few strands of Nezumi’s hair caught in his eyelashes, moved as he blinked.

            “A future course of action. A strategy on how to proceed.”

            Nezumi stared for a moment, then smiled in a lazy way that made Shion’s skin hot.

            Shion turned away, stared as drops of coffee began dripping into the carafe, turning into a steady pour.

            “Not at all,” Nezumi was saying. “But I’m open to suggestions.”

             “I suggest you take the fact that you’re a fugitive in hiding more seriously,” Safu said shortly.

            “Have you got a pen so I can write that down? Don’t want to forget it.”

            “Coffee’s ready,” Shion interrupted loudly, looking up to see his friends staring back at him.

            “And you need to take Nezumi’s fugitive status more seriously as well,” Safu said in a pointed way, then grabbed the coat she’d only just discarded and left the apartment once more with a curt closing of the front door.

            “I think she likes me,” Nezumi said, taking the mug Shion poured for him.

            “Be nice, Nezumi. This is her apartment too, and she has every right to kick you out.”

            “She won’t,” Nezumi said, lifting his mug to his lips.

            “You don’t know that. Safu is very pragmatic, and it’s not very sensible to have you here. I’d be more careful around her,” Shion advised.

            “She also cares enough about you to throw that common sense away if that’s what you ask her to do,” Nezumi said simply, settling into the stool Safu had vacated and placing his mug on the counter.

            He rested his elbow beside his mug and his palm in his hand, watching Shion calmly.

            Shion leaned back against the stovetop. “You only just met her, how can you make an assumption like that?”

            “Easily. She hasn’t kicked me out.”

            Shion frowned at this logic. “Yet,” he reminded.

            Nezumi smiled again, that slow lift of his lips that made Shion’s chest constrict in an odd way. “Yet,” he agreed.

            Shion watched Nezumi pick up his mug again and place it against his lips, and he had a sudden curiosity as to whether or not those lips were soft, or warm, or might burn him like fire or take his breath away like smoke if he were to ever touch them.

*

The following day was a Monday, and when the police knocked, Shion and Safu were both at work.

            Nezumi knew it was the police because they announced it.

            “Police! Open the door!”

            Nezumi was sitting in the middle of Shion’s bed, eating handfuls of Goldfish out of a bag he’d discovered in the cupboard and reading through one of the books on anatomy he’d found amongst the rubbish on Shion’s floor.

            He didn’t know what anatomy had to do with whatever it was Shion did, exactly, but the book itself was the best Nezumi could find. He had resolved to send Shion out to the library with a list of books when the guy got home.

            Nezumi looked up from a paragraph detailing the process in which bile was released from the gallbladder to the small intestine.

            “Police!”

            Nezumi unraveled his crossed legs and got up from the bed, throwing the anatomy book into a pile of Shion’s discarded clothes and making his way across the crowded floor to the window to peek out.

            He counted two police cruisers on the street outside the apartment building as well as three firetrucks.

            Nezumi stepped away from the window. He had no intention of starting a fire inside of Shion’s building. He had no intention of letting the police know he was there at all.

            He knew that there were two possible outcomes. The police would knock for another five minutes, then leave until Shion got home, meaning they hadn’t yet gotten a warrant.

            If they had gotten a warrant, they would knock down the door.

            “Stand back!” the muffled shout was followed by a splintering crack.

            “Dammit,” Nezumi muttered. He’d been hoping for the first option; the second was rather inconvenient.

            Nezumi was tired of starting fires. In the twenty years since he’d been on his own, he’d only started fires sparingly. Of course, there was hardly any risk in them when he was in control – it was accidental fires that were truly dangerous – but Nezumi preferred not to.

            Since he’d come to this city, Nezumi had created more fires than he had in the twenty years beforehand. Since he’d met Shion, it seemed, Nezumi’s ability seemed much more prevalent in his life than he preferred it to be.

            Nezumi sighed, stepped back to the window as he heard an officer tell the others to spread out. He checked to see that Shion’s door was closed, then peeked out the window again to make sure there weren’t many people walking on the sidewalk four blocks from Shion’s apartment building – the farthest point from the building that Nezumi could see from his vantage point.

            It was the middle of the work day, so less people were out, but Nezumi could still make out five people and a dog on a leash on the sidewalk. He watched them carefully, then wound a line of fire around them, careful not to let any fire near the dog – the people would know to stay back, but Nezumi couldn’t trust animals.

            There was a loud stream of four knocks on Shion’s door just as the shouting began from outside.

            “What’s going on?” the officer outside Shion’s door demanded, and Nezumi listened, could hear another officer from down the hall or maybe in Safu’s room talking to a garbled voice on his walkie-talkie.

            “There’s a rampant fire four blocks away! It’s him, everyone out now!”

            Nezumi looked back out the window. He could see that the five people and the dog had moved off the sidewalk across the street. Nezumi’s fire had not spread, but of course it hadn’t – Nezumi hadn’t made it.

            The only fires that spread without notice were those Nezumi did not plan on making, and he wasn’t going to have an outburst like the oven mitt incident again.

            There was a commotion outside Shion’s room door, and then the officers were slamming out of Shion’s apartment, and all was quiet again. Nezumi kept watching out the window, saw as the officers exited the building a minute or so later, running to their cars and a few firemen to the firetrucks. They peeled away from the curb and barreled down the street to the sidewalk Nezumi had lit on fire, and Nezumi allowed the firetrucks to get their hoses in place.

            The moment water hit his flames, Nezumi called them back, forcing the rope of them to climb high into the sky and wind around a few buildings before he opened Shion’s apartment window and let the flames slip into his chest.

            He wasn’t worried about the police watching where the fire went and tracking it back to him. They’d be too distracted by their search of the street, by checking that everyone in the vicinity was all right, by the smoke that would leave them coughing and gasping for breath but no more damage than that.

            Nezumi slammed the window shut when the last of his fire was coating the underside of his skin. He stepped away from the window, retraced his steps to where he’d thrown that book on anatomy, returned with it to Shion’s bed, and settled in again to continue his chapter on the digestive system.

*

Shion couldn’t stop peeking at Nezumi, who’d borrowed a hair clip from Safu to pin his bangs on top of his head.

            The rest of Nezumi’s dark hair was swept up into a loose high bun that swayed ever so slightly when he moved.

            “It’s all gibberish,” Nezumi complained, leaning back.

            They were sitting on Shion’s floor with their backs against the side of Shion’s bed.

            “I’ve seen you devour stacks of library books in days. If you can handle Victorian literature, you can read through these documents.”

            Nezumi dropped the files Shion had given him two hours before. “What if I cooked?”

            “You’re a terrible cook,” Shion reminded calmly, not looking up from his own stack of files.

            Nezumi picked up his papers again and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

            It was a routine that had been going on for the last hour and a half, after Shion came home and announced that the way Nezumi would pay his rent would be to help him and Safu with their own workloads – grading exams for Safu using the answer key she’d already written out for him, and helping Shion organize and summarize the research he’d conducted on his water filtration system so that he could write it up into a journal article that might prove helpful to others looking for clean water solutions.

            Another hour or so later, Shion peeked at Nezumi again to see that the man was sitting with his eyes an inch away from the documents he was reading, one hand woven tight into his bangs that he had freed from Safu’s clip a little while back.

            Shion watched him for a moment, then dropped his own papers and nudged Nezumi’s knee with his. “Let’s take a break,” he said, and Nezumi immediately threw the papers he’d been holding away from him. “Nezumi! Try not to keep throwing things around, we need to be organized with what we’ve already read through.”

            “Are you actually giving me a lecture on organization?” Nezumi asked, gesturing to the entirety of Shion’s room before reaching back and freeing his hair from the bun.

            It swept over his shoulders, trickled along the skin of his neck.

            Nezumi had been a fugitive on the run for five days now. The police had searched Safu and Shion’s apartment twice – on Monday when Shion wasn’t home, as Nezumi recounted to him, and two days after that in the afternoon when Shion was home, just the day before.

            Shion had been able to stall the police at the door long enough for Nezumi to slip out the bathroom window, climb down the fire escape onto the balcony of the apartment on the floor below them, scale down the building without any of the cars on patrol seeing him, and start a fire in an abandoned parking garage several blocks away where he spelt out _FIREMASTER_ in the flames so that even when he took the fire away, his signature was scorched into the cement.

            Shion had been inclined not to believe any of this story as Nezumi told him later that night when he’d returned to the apartment two hours after the police had left, as frankly, it was unbelievable. How Nezumi had managed to get down from Shion’s apartment on the seventh floor without anyone seeing him from outside the building was in itself implausible, but Nezumi must have done it as he clearly hadn’t been caught by the police. When Shion had asked for Nezumi to elaborate on _how_ , the man had simply said a magician never revealed his secrets.

            Sure enough, on the news that night had been video footage catching the word _FIREMASTER_ scorched into the parking garage floor from every angle.

            “Well, that’s narcissistic,” Safu had said from the kitchen where she’d been eating cereal and working on a lesson plan.

            “I appreciate the feedback,” Nezumi had replied, from the couch beside Shion.

            “It does seem dramatic,” Shion had offered.

            “Had to make sure they knew it was me and not just a random fire. I need them to stop checking your apartment.”

            “What if they put it together that you only start fires when they come to search my apartment?”

            “Are you suggesting I start fires all the time?” Nezumi had asked, and from his tone it had been clear the question was rhetorical, even though to Shion, it had made some sense.

            Shion found himself thinking about Nezumi’s escape again now, as he watched Nezumi collect his loosened hair and comb his fingers through it, separating it into three sections that he weaved deftly.

            “Not everyone can do what you can, can they?” Shion asked, the thought just occurring to him.

            That Nezumi was not simply the last surviving FireMaster. That he was even more incredible than that.

            “What was that?”

            Shion watched the quick movements of Nezumi’s fingers. They were long and pale and thin, bony. The dark of Nezumi’s hair slipped through them like liquid.

            “Your…abilities. To do what you can with fire. They’re not normal,” Shion clarified.

            Nezumi finished his braid, took the hair tie from around his wrist – also bony, Shion noted – and slipped it around the end of his braid once, twice, thrice, four times.

            “I hate to break it to you, but I happen to be what is often referred to as a FireMaster. You may have heard the term before.”

            Shion looked up from the end of Nezumi’s braid to find the man’s grey eyes calculating and quiet over his own features.

            “Even among FireMasters, I mean. You weren’t average. What you can do, that’s exceptional ability. You wrote a word in fire, and the letters could have been a font, they were perfect.”

            Nezumi pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them loosely. “As easily as you can write your name on a piece of paper, I can write with fire. That’s not exceptional ability, that’s good handwriting. Which I understand may seem exceptional to you with your illegible scrawl.”

            Shion pivoted so that he was facing Nezumi fully. “Okay, but what you did at the prison. You lit the air particles around me on fire, but not me. Even the ends of my hair weren’t scorched, I checked. Same with the air around the officers’ hands so they’d drop their guns. And on the sidewalk that day you got arrested, no one got hurt even though the fire appeared rampant. Your control over fire, it’s incredible, even for your kind,” he insisted, leaning forward.

            Nezumi’s expression was unreadable. “My kind?”

            Shion felt his skin heat up. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

            “Like what?” Nezumi asked lightly. He shook his head once, tucked his bangs behind his ears. “I was waiting for your curiosity to spill over. It took longer than I thought for you to start your questioning.”

            Shion stared swiftly at his knees, then took a breath and made himself meet Nezumi’s gaze again. “I don’t intend to make you feel like an animal in a zoo. I think your abilities are incredible, and I’m just curious. I don’t think you need to make fun of me for that.”

            Nezumi raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “I’ve made fun of you for less.”

            Shion relaxed, relieved that Nezumi really didn’t mind his questions. “I’m right, aren’t I? If your village had never been massacred, you would have been amongst the most skilled of your people.”

            “Stop flattering me, you’ll make me blush,” Nezumi replied, shifting so that he could cross his legs.

            “How did you learn to do these things when there was no one to teach you?” Shion asked, leaning forward, but he felt his stomach drop at the shift in Nezumi’s expression – nearly unnoticeable but for the fact that Shion was always watching Nezumi closely, noticed every single thing about the man.

            Nezumi leaned back. “Guess it’s natural talent,” he finally said, but his voice was stiff, and after a moment he was unraveling his legs, standing up.

            Shion looked up at him, then stood up as well. He reached out, touched Nezumi’s wrist, was certain the man would pull away, but he didn’t. “Nezumi. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

            Nezumi looked at him so fully Shion almost wanted to take a step back. There was something startling, in having all of Nezumi’s attention, so concentrated as it was, the silver of his eyes flat as metal. “What are you sorry for?”

            Shion’s breath caught in his throat. He worked to loosen it, to find his voice somewhere behind it. “I shouldn’t have spoken so casually about the death of your village.”

            “Why not?” Nezumi asked, but there was no lightness in his tone, there was no amusement.

            There was only seriousness, like Nezumi actually wanted an answer.

            “I don’t remember them, why should I care?”

            Shion’s mouth was dry. He swallowed, and it took too much effort. “I’m sure you must remember something,” he said, but his voice came out a whisper.

            “I remember the bodies afterwards. Does that count?”

            Shion’s chest tightened. He felt like he might cry and hated himself for it. What right did he have to cry? What right did he have to make Nezumi comfort him?

            “I’m so sorry, Nezumi,” he breathed, the only words he could think of to say, and he knew they were not enough, he knew they were nothing, but they were all he had.

            He wanted to step forward. To reach out. To bring Nezumi to his chest, to wrap his arms around the man, to squeeze him tight. He wanted to show Nezumi that he was not alone, but he didn’t know if that was what Nezumi wanted to be shown.

            Maybe he wanted loneliness. Maybe he hated it, that he had to stay in Shion’s apartment, to sleep in his bed, to rely on Shion for his safety and protection when all he’d ever known was being on his own and taking care of himself.

            “Stop saying you’re sorry,” Nezumi snapped, his anger sharp and not hot at all but icy and biting. “What do you have to be sorry for? Did you kill them? Was that you, Shion, was that you who killed everyone, every last one of them?”

            With each word, Nezumi’s voice got quieter, but Shion felt as though he could only hear the man more clearly so that by the end of it that was all Shion heard – Nezumi’s breath, the frost of it, the hatred – and it was clear that there was hatred.

            Shion had never seen a look that so embodied that emotion. Of absolute loathing, of complete disdain. An emptiness of the features but for the steel of his gaze, the weight of it settling over Shion’s features like a stone.

            Shion’s eyes were burning and then they were spilling over. He reached his hand up quickly, wiped at his face roughly, wanted to turn away from Nezumi, to hide himself, his shame, his sorrow that Nezumi didn’t want, didn’t need, couldn’t do anything with.

            He wanted to step away, but he couldn’t because then there was Nezumi’s hand, fast and sudden and rough around the collar of Shion’s shirt, and Shion gasped, the air sucked from his lungs as if pulled out by the space around him.

            “Answer me. Was it you, Shion?” Nezumi asked, and this time his voice was perfectly even.

            Shion gritted his teeth. His tears were still slipping down, betraying him, but he couldn’t move to wipe them away.

            He could feel as Nezumi’s hand tightened around the fabric of his shirt. He could feel the shift of Nezumi’s knuckles through thin fabric against his skin.

            “No,” Shion finally said because he knew Nezumi would not let go of him until he answered.        

            Nezumi stared at him a moment more, then threw him, and Shion staggered back, stumbled on a stack of books and fell into a heap of his own limbs on the floor, wincing.

            “Of course you didn’t,” Nezumi said, his tone angry still but at the same time almost incredulous, as if Shion had been the one to suggest that he had been responsible for the massacre of Nezumi’s entire village. “You couldn’t have – ”

            “Nezumi – ”

            “– because it was me. I killed them. So stop crying and saying sorry when you don’t know what it means to be sorry, Shion, you’ve never had to be sorry.”

            Nezumi turned then, left before Shion could process what he’d heard, and by the time Shion felt the first tricklings of understanding his room door was being slammed, the noise so loud he flinched.

            He stayed very still for a moment, then scrambled to his feet, ran to his door and wrenched it open just in time to hear another door slam – the front door of the apartment.

            Before Shion could react, Safu’s door was opening across from his.

            “Why are you slamming all of the – Are you okay?”

            Shion looked at her a moment, remembered he’d been crying, wiped hurriedly at his face. “I – Yeah – It’s Nezumi – I’m fine, but – He left.”

            Safu blinked. “Left where?”

            “I don’t know,” Shion breathed.

            “Did he do something to you?”

            “What?”

            “You’re crying, Shion.”

            Shion shook his head. He felt scattered. He was still hearing the words Nezumi had said as though Nezumi was speaking them into his ear at that moment.

            _I killed them. I killed them._

            He knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. It had to not be true.

            “He didn’t – He – I don’t know where he went,” Shion said, breathing deeply, feeling as though he needed to breathe, he couldn’t remember breathing since Nezumi’s hand had been around his shirt.

            Safu took a step out of her room. “Do you want to look for him?”

            Shion kept breathing. Felt his chest rise and fall, was comforted by this, the familiarity of it. He tried to think. “I don’t know where he could be.”

            Safu tucked her hair behind her ears. “He’s smart, Shion,” she said, her voice soft. “He’ll be okay, he can take care of himself, and he knows how to avoid the police. We can look for him if you’d like, but I believe it’s safe to assume that if he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.”

            Shion rubbed at his eyes again, just in case there was any wetness he’d missed. “He won’t want to be found,” he said, finally.

            Safu nodded. “Why did he leave, Shion?”

            Shion closed his eyes. There was Nezumi’s hand around his shirt. There were eyes like steel and ice. There was the evenness of his voice like there was not a human behind it at all, like Nezumi might have been a machine.

            “I upset him.”

            Safu didn’t say anything for a moment, and then – “He’ll forgive you.”

            Shion opened his eyes. “I made him think about his past,” he admitted.

            Safu nodded again. “He’ll be okay. You know Nezumi. He’s strong.”

            _I killed them._

            Shion did not tell Safu that maybe he did not know Nezumi at all.

*

The alternative to accidentally starting a fire was purposefully starting one.

            So Nezumi returned to the abandoned parking garage where he’d gone before. When he closed his eyes, he could see Shion’s entire room on fire, Shion’s entire apartment on fire, and he had to keep reminding himself – that hadn’t happened.

            Nezumi had been a fast learner. He knew how to keep his emotions in check. He knew how to control his fire. He didn’t have accidents like the other kids did. He hadn’t had an accident since the oven mitt, and before that, since he was a baby, since before he could understand that what he could do was dangerous, was to always be kept in check, always be monitored – feel nothing at all if it was the alternative to everything at once.

            There were no police cars at the garage. Clearly, they did not think Nezumi would return to the scene of his crime. He hadn’t intended to, either.

            But the underside of his skin was burning, and Nezumi needed somewhere safe to let out the flames that licked the insides of his flesh.

            He returned to the same floor of the parking garage where he’d written what everyone called him – _FireMaster_.

            Perhaps it wasn’t so incorrect after all. Shion had been right. What Nezumi could do with fire was not the same as what his family had been able to. All of his ancestors could manipulate fire, conjure it and play with it and remove it, but they could not control it the way Nezumi could.

            He had been a fast learner. His mother had been amazed. She had praised him, as had the entire village.

            _Wise beyond his years,_ they’d said.

            They should never have said such things. He’d only been a boy. He hadn’t known better than to believe them, to think they were right.

            Nezumi’s skin was close to burning now. He stood on the scorched _M_ and closed his eyes, and only then did he relax, only then did he let go, only then did everything come out.

            When Nezumi opened his eyes, he was surrounded by fire. He held his breath to avoid filling his lungs with the smoke of it, and he forced his fire to grow the way he’d learned as a boy he was never supposed to.

*


	5. Chapter 5

Shion and Safu were watching the parking garage burn into disintegration on the news when there was a soft knocking on the door Shion only heard because he’d been hoping for it.

            He leapt off the couch and ran to open the door, and Nezumi fell against him so that Shion only just managed to catch the man.

            Nezumi’s skin was hot and wet. He was sweating and covered in soot and ash, and then he was coughing in a way that shuddered his entire body, shaking in Shion’s arms as Shion struggled to keep them both standing.

            “Get him inside.” Safu’s voice was crisp and clear, and Shion looked up from the mess of Nezumi’s body in his arms to see her beside them.

            He nodded, pulled Nezumi inside, the man’s boots dragging on the floor.

            Nezumi kept coughing into Shion’s shirt. Safu closed the door quickly once they were clear of it and locked it.

            “Get him in the shower, he reeks of smoke, they’ll know he’s here if they come looking for him. Have we got candles? No, I’ve got a better idea,” Safu said, moving away from them and rummaging in a kitchen cabinet, and Shion didn’t question her.

            He shifted Nezumi in his arms. “Can you walk?”

            “I can’t – breathe – ”

            Nezumi was out of breath. Shion realized this was both from running to the apartment and the smoke that no doubt filled his lungs. Not a good combination.

            “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Shion told him.

            Ideally, he would have taken Nezumi outside for fresh air, or at least stuck his head out a window, but Safu was right.

            He needed a shower. The police might have followed him. Shion was scared to ask if they had.

            “I’ll keep an eye on the news, get him in the shower!” Safu called.

            As Shion half carried Nezumi to the bathroom, he was aware that the man was trailing ash over the carpet.

            Nezumi kept coughing, and when he wasn’t coughing, he was gasping. He needed oxygen, but every time he tried to inhale, he was coughing again. His body wracked against Shion’s like there was nothing inside of it but bones and smoke.

            Shion got him to the bathroom and closed the lid of the toilet before sitting him down. Nezumi immediately slumped over, still coughing.

            “I can’t – ”

            “Don’t try to speak.” Shion grabbed a paper cup from under the sink, filled it with water, kneeled in front of Nezumi and lifted Nezumi’s chin up. “You need to drink this. That means you have to stop coughing.”

            Nezumi’s eyes were red and wet. Water leaked out as he coughed again, clearing a pale path down the ash coating his face.

            “You can do it, you’ll be fine,” Shion said, not sure if he believed it. He could tell Nezumi had messed up his lungs, but he couldn’t tell if the damage would be permanent. The panic was starting to set in, but Shion pushed it aside, refused it, did not have time to acknowledge his own fear at the moment.

            He lifted the cup to Nezumi’s lips, helped Nezumi tilt his head up, watched Nezumi swallow once before he was coughing again, the water from his mouth splattering onto Shion’s face.

            “Sor—”

            “Don’t talk. I just need you to breathe.”

            Nezumi shook his head. His chest rose and fell too quickly. Shion noticed that a few of the ends of his hair were singed.

            He leaned forward. “Listen to me. Nezumi. This is what’s happening to you right now. You inhaled too much smoke and not enough oxygen. You are now oxygen deprived. Your throat might be swollen and closing up. Fluid might be collecting in your upper airways. I understand that it’s difficult to breathe. I understand that it hurts. But you either breathe or you die. Those are your only options, and you need to pick one.”

            Nezumi’s eyes were red and bleary but they were on Shion’s, and then Nezumi was nodding, coughing again and Shion could hear the thickness of Nezumi’s throat in the sound of it.

            He tried not to think about it. Nezumi needed a hospital, but Shion wasn’t sure that he could get to one in time.

            “I’ll breathe with you. A proper inhale, okay, not a gasp, you need more oxygen than that, your inhales are too shallow and your exhales are too deep.”

            Nezumi nodded again. Shion reached out to wipe ash from his cheek, to check on Nezumi’s complexion.

            It was paler than usual. A little bluish, as were his lips.

            “Inhale with me now,” Shion said, his thumb just lightly over Nezumi’s lips so he could feel the breath that Nezumi took in, judge if it was strong enough.

            They both inhaled. Nezumi’s shoulders rose with it. More water leaked from his eyes, some of it catching in his eyelashes, others streaking his dirtied cheeks.

            “Okay, you can exhale,” Shion offered, when his own lungs were full, and Nezumi gasped hard, was coughing again, looked exhausted, ready to pass out.

            Shion shifted closer on his knees. Reached up with his other hand to check Nezumi’s pulse, fingering the bony underside of Nezumi’s wrist.

            His pulse was much too fast.

            “You’re not really going to give up, are you?” Shion demanded, and realized only after the fact that he was shouting.

            He was panicking, and he had to stop, he had to keep it together.

            Nezumi took a large breath, and Shion could hear every part of his pain in the rattle of it, in the hitches it made in his throat.

            “Good, exhale slowly,” Shion said, knowing he needed to be calm, knowing that Nezumi was not going to make it, there was no way he would make it, he needed professional medical attention, he needed oxygen to be administered to him, his airway was definitely swollen and he needed it to be cleared.

            He watched Nezumi exhale slowly, the drop of his shoulders. His entire body moved with his breaths.

            Shion guided Nezumi through five more sets of breaths. Nezumi coughed a few more times, but not as badly. Shion stood up only to refill the cup and crouch back down.

            “I really would like you to drink this. The cold water could help your throat, I’m worried about your swollen airways.”

            It was a guess. Shion knew a few things about the body from his casual reading. He was not a doctor. He did not know how to fix Nezumi.

            He let Nezumi take another breath, then pressed the cup again to his lips, and again he watched Nezumi swallow, but this time Nezumi did not cough, this time he drank the entire cup, and Shion quickly refilled it, offered it back, refilled it a third time, then a fourth, and then Nezumi was coughing but it was progress, Shion told himself this was progress.

            “Does it still hurt to breathe? Nod or shake your head, don’t talk.”

            Nezumi exhaled and nodded once. His breaths were as loud as a voice in the otherwise quiet bathroom. Shion hated the sound of them. They should not have been so loud, they should not have been so ragged, they should not have been so frayed.

            He made himself smile at Nezumi. “It’s okay. You’re doing great. You’ll be fine, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi coughed as the fire alarm went off.

            Shion looked around as if he might find a fire beside him, and then the bathroom door was opening.

            “Sorry!” Safu said, rushed. “I’ve opened the windows. I burnt some cookie dough in the oven. The smell of it won’t cover Nezumi, rather, it’ll provide an excuse for the odor of something burning. Is he okay?”

            “He’s breathing.” Shion left out the _for now_.

            Safu walked into the bathroom and knelt beside Shion. She reached out, tilted Nezumi’s face towards her, and he blinked at her blearily.

            “It would really be a nuisance if a fugitive died in my bathroom. You do understand that, right?” she asked, and Shion stared at her, shocked, but when he looked at Nezumi it was to see the corners of his lips turning up.

            “I’ll do my best not to,” he murmured, his voice hoarse as though wet gravel filled his throat, and then he was coughing.

            Safu reached her thumb up, wiped a tear that had dropped from where it’d been caught in Nezumi’s eyelashes.

            “He needs a hospital.”

            “They’ll lock him up,” Shion said, but he knew Safu was right, and he was starting to think Nezumi might be able to hang in there until he could get help.

            Safu shrugged. “He can break out again. No big deal for a bigshot FireMaster, right?”

            Nezumi gave a breathy half laugh that had him coughing again.

            “Please stop making him talk and laugh,” Shion said, as Safu stood up and washed her hands in the sink.

            “I’m calling an ambulance.”

            Shion didn’t argue with her.

            “So much for my genius burnt cookie strategy,” she said as she left the bathroom, and Shion turned back to look at Nezumi.

            “You understand that we have to do this. You’ll die here. I don’t know how to take care of you.”

            “I can breathe,” Nezumi said.

            Shion hated the sound of his voice. He shook his head. “Your lungs could be damaged, Nezumi. This is serious.”

            Nezumi shook his head. “You said I’d be fine.” He started coughing again.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “I can’t call the ambulance,” Safu said, appearing in the doorway again with a phone in her hand.

            “What? Why not?”

            Safu’s face was pale. “It was on the news. There was someone on the street who got hit with a part of the parking garage as it crumbled. They don’t have her status ready for the public yet but – Nezumi might have killed someone.”

*

Nezumi felt as though he were breathing through a straw clogged with tar.

            He’d started coughing up mucus stained black. It hurt to move, so he tried not to, not even to flinch when he felt someone touching him.

            “Hi.”

            Nezumi relaxed. It was Shion, his fingers slipping through Nezumi’s wet bangs, unsticking them from his forehead.

            Nezumi didn’t bother opening his eyes.

            “Are you awake?” Shion asked.

            His voice was like rain, cool and soft and a relief.

            Nezumi shifted his cheek against Shion’s pillow. He’d showered, not caring that Shion had to help him, to scrub the soot off his skin. He’d been lying in Shion’s bed for some time, he wasn’t entirely sure. It was hard enough to breathe. Time felt irrelevant.

            Shion removed his fingers, and Nezumi felt the irrational urge to protest, to call them back to his hot skin.

            “She’s alive. Some fractured ribs, a broken hip, her femur snapped in half, but with surgery they say she’ll be able to walk. There shouldn’t be any lasting damage.”  

            Nezumi’s eyes burned beneath his eyelids. He couldn’t summon the energy to nod again, and did nothing.

            “Safu still doesn’t think we should take you to the hospital, and I agree. It’s not just vandalism anymore now that someone got hurt. On the news they’re saying – ”

            Shion cut himself off. Nezumi didn’t mind that. He didn’t care what anyone was saying.

            “We’ll keep you here. I’ll make sure you’re safe. You don’t have to worry, Nezumi,” Shion was saying, and Nezumi didn’t know how a voice could be so soft, didn’t know how it could sound so gentle that he forgot, for a moment, how painful it was just to stay alive.

            Nezumi opened his eyes. Shion was at his level. Nezumi figured he must be crouching by the side of the bed.

            “Why are you doing this?” Nezumi’s own voice was not soft. It was small and tattered, breaking off and coming back.

            Shion tilted his head. The room was dark, but Nezumi knew Shion’s features well enough to make them out as easily as if they were illuminated.

            “Like I said, it’s not just vandalism that you can be charged with. The idea that you as a FireMaster are a serious danger to the public is growing rather rapidly, and people are feeling threatened. I don’t know that it’s the best idea to simply hand you over to the authorities. I would prefer if we took care of you here and took you to the hospital only as a last resort.”

            Nezumi knew his own voice would not be heard over Shion’s, even quiet as Shion’s was, so he waited until Shion was finished speaking to clarify his question. “Helping me. Why are you helping me?”

            Nezumi could not see that Shion’s eyes were red in the dark, but he could see how steady they were, how seriously they regarded Nezumi.

            “Because the idea of losing you scares me more than anything you might be capable of.”

            Shion’s voice was still soft, but solid, certain, and then he was standing, turning, walking to the door that he opened, letting in a strip of light that illuminated his profile as he glanced back. “Call my name if you need anything. I’ll hear you.”

            Shion was swallowed by the light outside the room, and then the door clicked closed, and Nezumi was alone in the dark again.

*

While Nezumi slept, Shion and Safu cleaned the apartment.

            Vacuumed the soot from where it stained the carpet from when Shion had half-carried Nezumi to the bathroom. Scrubbed the bathroom floors and the toilet seat and the inside of the bathtub where ash had fallen from clumps of Nezumi’s hair and bruised the porcelain.

            And when Nezumi woke again, Shion helped him to the bathroom, did not think Nezumi was even awake enough to feel embarrassed on needing support to pee. Shion offered him drinks of water, and Nezumi refused food. He didn’t seem fully conscious.

            In the living room between the times when Nezumi would wake, Shion sat with Safu and watched the news, waiting to hear information on the woman who’d been struck by the burning debris of the parking garage Nezumi had set fire to.

            He worried that she was dead, but more than that, Shion worried that it wouldn’t matter to him either way.

            Shion worried that even if Nezumi had accidentally killed this woman, it wouldn’t make a difference at all to how Shion felt about him.

*

After a full day of being in bed, Nezumi needed to get out.

            He moved himself slowly to the edge of it, and the mattress shifted behind him.

            “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

            “Go back to sleep,” Nezumi said.

            Shion had taken to helping Nezumi to and from the bathroom since the man’s order of bedrest.

            But Shion was not a doctor, and Nezumi knew his own body. He had no more need for bedrest, even if it was half past midnight at the moment Nezumi decided this, as he noted after a glance at the clock on Shion’s night table.

            “I wasn’t sleeping.” Shion’s voice was closer, and when Nezumi turned it was to see that Shion had scooched across the bed to sit beside Nezumi on the edge of it.

            “I don’t need your help.” Nezumi’s voice was still hoarse, but he no longer coughed up blackened mucus every time he spoke.

            “What happened yesterday?”

            Shion was sitting close enough that his thigh touched Nezumi’s. Nezumi could feel the warmth of Shion against his leg, but it only made the rest of his body feel cold.

            “Took you longer to ask than I expected,” Nezumi said. He didn’t mind the excuse of Shion’s questions to interrupt his escape from the bed. Out from the blanket was much colder than he’d expected, and Nezumi found that he did not want to leave any longer.

            Shion’s expression looked worn, exhausted, in the dark of the room that Nezumi’s eyes had long since adjusted to.

            “I didn’t ask before because it mattered more that you got better. If you don’t need my help, apparently you’re all healed, so I can ask you what you were doing that almost killed you.”

            Nezumi closed his eyes. There was a hard edge to Shion’s voice, and Nezumi didn’t know that he was up for an argument right now. His throat was already starting to hurt from the few words he’d said.

            “Forget it,” Nezumi muttered, shifting back on the mattress and slipping under the blankets again.

            After a moment, Shion had moved so that he was sitting beside Nezumi, hovering over him.

            “Were you trying to kill yourself?”

            Nezumi would have laughed if he knew it wouldn’t cause him some degree of pain. “Don’t be dramatic.”

            “You know smoke is dangerous. You told me yourself how it’s often overlooked as one of the most serious threats of fire. You didn’t just burn the parking garage down, you must have stood in there for some degree of time inhaling the smoke.”

            “My throat hurts,” Nezumi said, hoping that might get Shion to shut up about it, but Shion only leaned closer to him.

            “Then just answer yes or no. You owe me, Nezumi, I saved your life and am keeping you out of prison, the least you can give me is the truth,” Shion said, his voice low, and it surprised Nezumi that the guy was resorting to black mail. “Were you trying to kill yourself?”

            Nezumi could easily have not answered, but he knew how stubborn Shion was and could think of better ways to spend the night than to have Shion ceaselessly demanding information from him.

            Nezumi sighed. “No.”

            “Did you really kill your entire village?”

            Nezumi had been expecting another question about the parking garage incident, and blinked, taken aback.

            He waited for Shion to apologize, take the question back, but the man continued to look down at him fully, and Nezumi finally propped himself up on his elbows, then further up, pushed himself until his back was against the headboard.

            He could have lied. But he wanted Shion to have the truth. He needed someone other than himself to have the truth.

            “Yes.”

            Shion narrowed his eyes. “You were six.”

            This was not a question, nor something Nezumi could respond to in one word, so he chose to say nothing at all.

            “You were just a boy, Nezumi, you couldn’t have killed so many people. And if you did, then…Was it an accident? Like – Like the oven mitt?”

            _Inhale. Exhale._

            Nezumi swallowed. “Yes and no.”

            Shion crossed his legs and wrapped his hands around his ankles. “That’s not an answer.”

            “You asked two questions.”

            He could practically see the gears turning in Shion’s head. The man tilted his head that way he did. Peered at Nezumi closely.

            Nezumi concentrated on looking at him, observing him, not thinking of anything else but Shion on the bed in front of him – _Concentrate. Breathe._

            “So, yes, it was an accident, but no, it wasn’t like the oven mitt,” Shion finally said.

            _Inhale. Exhale. Breathe._

            “Shion.”

            “Yeah?” Shion sounded distracted. He was trying to figure it out, like Nezumi’s past was a puzzle, but he was wrong.

            It wasn’t a puzzle. It wasn’t a mystery. It wasn’t a game.

            It was just what had happened, and now it was just over, and maybe Shion found it a little fascinating, a little intriguing, a little frightening, even, but Nezumi just found it constant when it should have been over by now, it was the past and by definition Nezumi should have been allowed to be done with it, not to have to think about it, not to have to dream about it, not to have to relive it and hear the shouts and the cries and the plea, deep in his ear –

            _I saw a man with red eyes, white hair, and a scar like a snake. He was burning alive from a FireMaster’s fire. It was you, my bright star, it was –_

            Nezumi took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Let’s go back to sleep now,” he managed, but it was a request.

            He knew he owed Shion the truth. He wanted Shion to have the truth.

            But he couldn’t give it all at once. He didn’t know how to. It was too far down inside of him, and he couldn’t get it out, he’d never thought he’d want to get it out and now that he did it was harder than he’d thought, it hurt more than he’d thought.

            “Okay, Nezumi,” Shion said, and he slid back to his side of the bed, slipped under the blanket, laid with inches between him and Nezumi.

            Nezumi scooched down, laid on his back. Stared up at the ceiling and then closed his eyes but he hated what he saw so he opened them again.

            He rolled onto his side, saw that Shion was also on his back, also looking up at the ceiling, though he turned his head as Nezumi shifted.

            Shion blinked at him, and Nezumi opened his lips but didn’t know what he wanted to ask for, only that he wanted, he _wanted._

            Shion was the one to speak first. “Could I sleep closer to you?” he asked, sounding not at all tentative, hardly even curious, as if the question was a question he asked every night, as if he wasn’t worried at all with what Nezumi might reply.

            Nezumi swallowed. Nodded against the pillow, and then Shion was telling him to roll onto his other side, so Nezumi did as he was told as if this was a normal request, and he could feel Shion’s body pressing to his back, Shion’s chest against his shoulder blades, Shion’s legs slipping between his, Shion’s arms around his waist curling over the flat of his stomach and clutching loosely the t-shirt Nezumi wore.

            “Is this okay?” Shion asked, and there was his breath against the back of Nezumi’s neck, tangling into the strands of his hair as though if Nezumi showered the next morning, wrung out his hair, Shion’s words might slip down the skin of his shoulders and along the knobs of his spine and around the flat of his hips and down the curves of his thighs and knees and calves to swirl in the water by his feet and catch on the shower drain with the fallen hair that Nezumi was always forgetting to clean out afterward.

            Nezumi closed his eyes. He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

            Shion had not asked to sleep closer to Nezumi because it was what Shion wanted. Shion had asked because he was selfless, and he put others before himself, and he was putting Nezumi before himself because he’d known somehow that this was the question Nezumi had wanted to ask even when Nezumi had not been able to realize it himself. And so certainly, if he had known all of that, Shion must have also known the answer to his own question.

            He must have known that for Nezumi to be held in such a way for the first time in twenty years, to feel the presence of another human’s body for the first time in twenty years, was not in any way okay.

            It was incredible, and it was terrifying, and it was all Nezumi had wanted for longer than he could understand.

*


	6. Chapter 6

In the morning, Shion opened his eyes to see that Nezumi had turned, was still in his arms but was curled, facing him, knees pulled up and forehead against Shion’s chest. His hands were loose in their clutches on the hem of Shion’s t-shirt.

            It had been a full week since Nezumi had been living there, lying in Shion’s bed, but it was the first night they had slept in such a way. Nezumi had, as he had all other nights, had nightmares that shook him, but Shion had only held him closer, woken him at one point with a shake and a call of his name, soothed him back to sleep.

            It was oddly natural, to have Nezumi in his arms, as though this hadn’t been the first night they’d slept this way, as if it was only a continuation of a lifetime of sleeping together with limbs intertwined and breaths bouncing off different parts of one another’s bodies.

            Shion lifted his head, tried to crane his neck to check the time on the clock on his night stand without disturbing Nezumi, but just as he noted that it was half past eight, he felt Nezumi stirring against him.

            When Nezumi straightened out, he stretched, his leg that was between Shion’s jostling Shion’s knees and calves, his shoulders rising up, his back uncurling until his face was right in front of Shion’s, his arms coming above his head so that he nearly elbowed Shion in the face.

            His eyes were closed for the entire ordeal, and when they opened, he stared at Shion for several full seconds before blinking.

            “Hey,” he finally said.

            Shion didn’t say anything. He was still taking in this man he’d slept beside, this man he’d slept around.

            It was not the first time Shion noticed Nezumi was beautiful.

            It was not the second time either, nor the third.

            Shion had noticed this frequently since the very first time he’d seen Nezumi’s photograph in the newspaper, since the first time Nezumi had knocked on his door, since the first time Shion had asked him to lunch, since the first time he’d read with Nezumi at the library, since the first time he’d watched Nezumi stretch out on his sofa, since the first time he’d caught Nezumi smiling at some line in a book, since the first time he’d snuck a pepperoni from Nezumi’s plate when they got pizza.

            Shion noticed Nezumi’s beauty so often he didn’t think the term _noticing_ really applied anymore, as _noticing_ gave the impression that there was a moment beforehand of _not noticing_ , and there had been no such moment as that for quite some time.

            And so Shion observed, but didn’t quite notice, that Nezumi was beautiful, looking at the softened lines of his face, the grogginess that clouded his usually sharp features as it always did when Nezumi was freshly woken.

            Looking at Nezumi’s hair, scattered bangs and long feathery locks, Shion wanted to comb his fingers through it.

            And Nezumi’s eyelashes, tangled in a few strands of his bangs, Shion wanted to reach out and touch them with the very tips of his fingers.

            And Nezumi’s lips, parted and just a little chapped, Shion wanted to press his own lips to them, to slip his own breath inside them, to receive from Nezumi whatever damaged, ragged exhales the man could offer.

            Shion had known, for almost as long as he’d taken to noticing Nezumi’s beauty, that he wanted to kiss this man. That he wanted to do more than kiss this man. That he was attracted to him, physically and sexually, and this was not so strange a desire, Shion thought. Nezumi was a very attractive person, both conventionally and unconventionally. Especially in the mornings, when he looked much gentler, the sharp lines of him dulled, Shion ached to touch him, to feel him, to undress him and learn what the secret skin of the insides of his thighs felt like, to press his own lips to Nezumi’s bony wrists and soften them under his exhales, to bite the flesh of Nezumi’s earlobes with so much deliberation and care it would hardly count as a bite at all.

            It was more than sexual, of course. Shion knew his actions and decisions regarding Nezumi were not logical. It didn’t take a genius – though Shion was rather close to that – to figure out that he had feelings for the man that extended beyond physicality, beyond friendship, beyond simple companionship.

            Nezumi was a dangerous fugitive with an unknown past that possibly involved murder. He continuously advised Shion to stay away from him, warned Shion that he was going to kill him, and yet here he was, in Shion’s bed, in Shion’s arms, inches from Shion’s lips, and Shion wanted him nowhere else.

            Shion did not know if it was love because he was not familiar with love that was not familial or platonic. He was new to romantic love, to passionate love, and unsure if these were what he felt for Nezumi or if it was something else, some unnamed thing, some unknown thing, some uncharted thing that no one had ever felt for anyone else and here was Shion, the first to feel this ache in him, the first to experience the draw that Nezumi had on him, the magnetic need to be with him, the carving want that disturbed him and electrified him, that burned him.

            Shion wondered what Nezumi would do if Shion kissed him. More than that, he wondered what the kiss might feel like. What Nezumi might taste like, underneath the usual morning stickiness that stuck to the mouth, which Shion thought they could both ignore since neither of them had brushed their teeth yet.

            He wondered what Nezumi might sound like, if he would make a sound, some low murmur at the base of his throat, or just the skate of a hitched breath over his teeth, or the stream of an exhale against Shion’s upper lip. He wondered what Nezumi might look like, so up close that his features would blur, maybe all Shion would see would be the flicker of dark eyelashes, maybe all Shion would see would be the inside of his own eyelids if he chose to close his eyes.

            Shion did not know if Nezumi felt for him what he felt for Nezumi. Possibly not. Shion did not know much about Nezumi. His entire past was a blank slate until just over two months ago when he arrived in this city and at Shion’s door. Even his present was uncertain – what Nezumi was thinking, if he even wanted to be in this bed or if he wanted to leave, if he wanted to run.

            He seemed like someone who would run. A restless wisp of a thing. Wind rather than human, storm rather than species.

            Shion craved to both be caught in him and swallow him whole.

            Nezumi had not said anything, while Shion surveyed him. While Shion contemplated the possibilities of kissing him, how Nezumi would feel and taste and look and sound.

            Nezumi had only watched Shion back, but Shion reminded himself that Nezumi would not stay still forever, that Nezumi was a runner, that Nezumi was restless, that to wait too long to kiss him would be a foolish thing because Nezumi was not to be kept waiting.

            And so Shion leaned forward, parted his lips but not too much, fully aware of his own morning breath, and it was his nose that touched Nezumi’s nose first before their lips made contact.

            Shion’s bottom lip had fallen between Nezumi’s. He had Nezumi’s top lip between his own. The man was very soft. His exhale was hot and slow against Shion’s top lip. Shion’s nose was right up against Nezumi’s, the tip of it touching Nezumi’s cheek. He could see nothing and realized that his eyes were closed, had done so on their own accord, and Shion didn’t open them, could feel enough already without needing another sense to distract him.

            Shion didn’t bother opening his lips any farther. Left his against Nezumi for as long as felt right. Enjoyed the softness and the pressure and the warmth and did not have any immediate desire to move back, but after a few seconds he did, pursing his lips momentarily beforehand, a second of added pressure so that he might take some of the feeling with him when he broke apart.

            He moved far back enough so that they were no longer kissing, so that the tips of their noses were not touching but nearly so, so that he felt a little cross-eyed, trying to look at Nezumi at such a range.

            “Good morning,” Shion added, when he remembered he hadn’t really greeted Nezumi as yet, hadn’t replied to Nezumi’s _Hey._

            Nezumi’s lips were still slightly parted, but this time stained with Shion’s. Shion watched them as they moved.

            “Morning,” Nezumi said, a beat later than what would have been normal, but Shion didn’t mind.

            “Do you want to shower first?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi reached up. Tucked his bangs behind his ear with slow, shuffling movements. “You can.”

            Shion didn’t move for another second, memorizing the way Nezumi looked at him, then pushed himself up with his arms, slipped out the blanket and off the bed, made his way to the bathroom.

            His skin was already hot, but Shion turned the shower spray on even hotter. He wanted to melt, if only to prove to himself that he could resolidify, that he could survive it, and if he could, then he might chance kissing Nezumi again, and again, and again after that.

*

Nezumi sat on the edge of the couch with Shion’s hand up his shirt.

            He flinched at the contact.

            “Sorry, it’s cold,” Shion said, not sounding sorry.

            “Could have warned me,” Nezumi muttered.

            “Breathe in deeply,” Shion replied, and Nezumi did as he was told, watching Shion for a sign of what he was hearing.

            He looked good in a stethoscope. Convincingly professional. Sexy, too, which was a rather unwelcome thought, prompted no doubt by that morning’s surprise that Nezumi was still thinking about despite the fact that half the day had passed and Shion had not acknowledged his own bizarre actions in the slightest.

            Instead, he’d whipped out a stethoscope that Safu had apparently swiped from the medical department at her university and ordered Nezumi to sit on the edge of the couch.

            It wasn’t that Nezumi had not noticed a physical attraction to the guy previous to the out-of-nowhere kiss. Nezumi simply had the common sense to know any sort of relationship with Shion was ill-advised. He was already throwing precaution to the winds living with Shion, and now Shion was kissing him.

            Not a good sequence of events.

            “Okay, I think I’m getting wheezing. Or it might be crackles,” Shion said, his brow furrowed, staring at the laptop perched precariously on his lap where he’d Googled abnormal breathing sounds.

            “Those don’t sound good.”

            “I’ll get a more accurate read from the back,” Shion murmured, removing the stethoscope and slipping it up the back of Nezumi’s shirt.

            Nezumi sat very still, inhaling when Shion told him, exhaling on command as well. He traced the feel of the stethoscope’s cold surface as Shion maneuvered his back, but the man avoided the warped, hardened skin of Nezumi’s scar despite not knowing it was there, and then he was retracting his hand completely.

            He removed the earbuds of the stethoscope and let them loosely hug his neck.

            “Well, doc? What’s the verdict?”

            “Not good,” Shion said, his concern a clear feature over his face, though it was smoothed out a moment later. “It’s early, though. In time, it should get better. We’ll keep checking in.”

            Nezumi ran his hand through his bangs. “What does wheezing mean? And crackling?”

            “Inflammation, irritation, other types of damage. I can’t specify, like I said, I’m not a doctor.”

            “So this whole thing was pointless,” Nezumi said flatly.

            Shion unwound the stethoscope from his neck, closed his laptop, placed it on the coffee table with the stethoscope on top. “This is the best I can do, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi looked away from him. Shion owed him nothing but was giving him everything he had, more than what he had, this was obvious.

            Nezumi stood up. He should have said _Thank you_ , felt the words lodge at the back of his throat, couldn’t get them out.

            He cleared his throat. Tried different words he knew he could manage. “Want some tea?”

            “Sure,” Shion said, and Nezumi sensed the man following him into the kitchen where Shion sat on a stool and Nezumi grabbed mugs for both of them.

            Nezumi filled them and placed them side-by-side into the microwave, pressed 3.

            “Remind me of your aversion to kettles?” Shion asked, when Nezumi sat in the stool across from him.

            “Nothing against the kettle. There’s just something about the beeping sound the microwave makes when it’s done that absolutely thrills me,” Nezumi said, his lips lifting without his own intent when Shion laughed.

            “Most people hate that sound.”

            “Well, I’m not most people.”

            Shion’s laugh settled into a soft smile. “No, you’re not.”

            Nezumi held Shion’s gaze for a moment, then broke it, turning back as if to check on the microwave even though it hadn’t beeped.

            The truth was the kettle required the stove, which required fire, and Nezumi felt like he’d been around enough fire the last few days to suit him for a bit.

            He was not frightened of fire, nor even wary of it. He respected it and didn’t underestimate it. It was a part of him.

            But it was a larger part of his past. He’d been surrounded by fire constantly as a child, but for the past twenty years it had been missing, cropping up only sparingly when Nezumi needed it.

            Now, Nezumi was using it often, each use a reminder of the days when it had surrounded him continuously, and Nezumi was not looking for reminders of his past.

            When the microwave beeped, Nezumi took out the mugs, placed them on the counter, dipped tea bags in each before sliding one to Shion who cupped his hands around it in a gesture that was familiar to Nezumi by now.

            So much about Shion was familiar by now. Nezumi couldn’t remember the last time a stranger had become familiar to him. The last time anyone outside his village had become familiar to him.

            It occurred to him suddenly that he was familiar to Shion now as well. That he was _known_ to someone else, and no one had ever known him, not past the age of six, no one had known him at all.

            “Nezumi.”

            Nezumi stopped steeping his tea and looked up at Shion, who was watching Nezumi in his curious way, that head-tilted way.      

            Nezumi sat straighter in his stool. “What?”

            “I was going to ask you a question,” Shion said mildly.

            Nezumi waited, and when no question came, he leaned his elbow on the counter and his cheek on his palm. “Is this the part where I read your mind?”

            Shion blinked, then smiled. “Oh, sorry, you distracted me.”

            “I didn’t do anything,” Nezumi protested.

            Shion didn’t seem to hear him. “I was going to ask a question, but then you distracted me.”

            “So you’ve said,” Nezumi muttered, nearly rolling his eyes. “Stop repeating yourself and ask your question, I’m on the edge of my stool here.”

            Shion’s smile was soft and secretive, like he was amused by something Nezumi was not aware of.

            Nezumi watched the man warily, and then Shion was leaning forward just a fraction of an inch.

            “What would you do if I kissed you again?”

            Nezumi had his mug of tea halfway to his lips, but lowered it again without taking a sip. “Are you asking permission?” he finally asked, trying to figure Shion out, to wrap his mind around the guy.

            “No. I’m asking what you would do.”

            Nezumi contemplated him. He could never understand what went on in Shion’s head. The man appeared from first glance entirely logical – a hardworking do-gooder, a selfless philanthropist, but then he went and did things like asking a man who threatened to kill him to lunch, harboring that same man as a fugitive, kissing that same man even after he’d admitted to the murder of an entire population.

            Where was the sense in that? What was wrong with this guy anyway? How could anyone’s judgment be so skewed?

            “I didn’t expect you’d have to think so hard,” Shion said, his smile growing an inch.

            “I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with you,” Nezumi replied.

            “I can make it multiple choice if that’d be easier. A, you’d kiss me back. B, you’d push me away,” Shion offered.

            Nezumi raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Only two options?”

            Shion bit his lip. “Hm. C, you’d let me kiss you, and when I break the kiss you’d make some sarcastic comment you think is witty.” Shion giggled at his own insult, his laugh nearly cutting himself off.

            Nezumi could hardly believe the guy was real.

            “D, my sarcastic comment _is_ witty,” Nezumi countered.

            Shion rested his own elbow on the counter, his own chin in his palm, and Nezumi was acutely aware Shion was mirroring his own pose. “Okay, that can be your fourth choice if you’d like. What’s your answer?”

            “You know this entire conversation is ridiculous, right?” Nezumi asked, straightening up from his palm and raising his arms over his head to stretch.

            “I don’t think it’s ridiculous. I’m asking so I know what to expect. I like to be prepared before I go into things,” Shion replied, shrugging, like they were not talking about kissing at all, and for a moment, Nezumi wondered if he’d misheard the entire time, maybe they were talking about something else entirely.

            What twenty-six-year-old man discussed kissing like it was some presentation at his next board meeting?

            “You’re really crazy, maybe you should eat more vitamins or something,” Nezumi suggested, lifting his tea to finally take a sip, finding it lukewarm by now, not minding as much as he usually would have.

            Shion looked at him a moment, then shrugged, took a sip of his own tea, placed it back down. “I guess I’ll have to prepare myself for all of the options then.”

            The sound of keys in the front door interrupted Nezumi from coming to the conclusion that this meant Shion was indeed going to kiss him again.

            He turned to watch Safu enter the kitchen, unbuttoning her jacket and looking swiftly back at him.

            “You shouldn’t be in the kitchen, you need to stay in Shion’s room. If the police come suddenly and break open the door without warning, you won’t have a chance to escape.”

            “Hello to you too, yes, I am finding it easier to breathe today than I did yesterday, thank you for your concern,” Nezumi replied, raising his mug at her before drinking more from it.

            Safu pulled off her jacket and threw it on the counter. “I’m glad to hear that, but I’d be gladder if you were finding it easier to breathe in the confines of Shion’s room. Have you finished grading my students’ tests? I want to return them tomorrow.”

            “Spent the entire morning on them,” Nezumi replied.

            Safu gave Nezumi a swift, distrustful look. He smiled at her in return.

            “He did, Safu, I watched him. How was your day?” Shion piped up.

            “Unsuccessful. After my classes I tried to swipe an oxygen mask from the medical department, but the department head caught me. I managed to use feminine wiles to excuse myself from his questioning about what I was doing in the locked storage closet and how I’d gotten in there in the first place, but I wasn’t able to get the mask even so as he insisted on escorting me back to my car,” Safu sighed, reaching across the counter for Shion’s mug of tea and taking a sip, then cringing. “This is cold.”

            “Feminine wiles?” Nezumi pressed, uncertain he’d heard correctly.

            Safu glanced at him. “Using my sexual appeal as a woman to distract a heterosexual man under the guise of seduction into forgetting what he was originally thinking. You should be familiar with the technique, I’m sure you’ve used it often.”

            Nezumi laughed. He enjoyed Safu’s straightforwardness. She was honest, tough. Nezumi had discovered easily, from his brief interactions with Safu – kept brief by her insistence – why Shion was so fond of her. “I’m not a woman,” he pointed out.

            Safu rolled her eyes. “You’re a conventionally sexually attractive man. Heterosexual men are not the only people susceptible to seduction, though they definitely seem more at risk,” Safu muttered, shaking her head in a way that made it quite clear how trivial she found the men she encountered.

            “Are you accusing me of using seduction to get what I want?”

            Safu’s glance at Shion was not unnoticed, and when she looked back at Nezumi, her eyebrows were raised. “Obviously.”

             “Safu!” Shion protested.

             “You should return to Shion’s room now, as I’ve said, it’s really not wise for you to be so close to the front door,” Safu said, while Nezumi was laughing, but he got up from his stool on her request, having no intention of denying this woman what she wanted.

            “Always a pleasure, Safu,” he said, then turned around, glanced at Shion as he left the kitchen.

            He had only just walked into Shion’s room, closed the door behind him, and started digging through the contents of Shion’s floor for a book when the door opened again, and Shion walked in.

            Nezumi straightened up from his rummaging. “I forgot to ask you to go to the library. I’ll need you to pick up – ”

            Nezumi had hardly registered Shion’s hands on his cheeks, pulling his face down, when there were Shion’s lips, open and against his own, not so much as muffling as catching the last syllables of Nezumi’s voice before he stopped speaking, realizing he was being kissed again.

            In his head ran Shion’s options – _A, kiss him back; B, push him away; C, let Shion finish the kiss and break away, then brush it off with some comment like it didn’t matter at all._

            Shion’s mouth was warm. His breath, exhaled into Nezumi’s mouth, skated over Nezumi’s teeth and onto his tongue.

            Nezumi wanted to taste him.

            He leaned forward. Raised his own hands, cupped Shion’s jaw, pulled the man closer, tilted his face higher. He opened his lips wider, tilted his head so their mouths would fit better, touched Shion’s upper lip with the tip of his tongue, tasted only warmth as if warmth could have a taste at all.

            Shion exhaled hard against him. His fingers curled on Nezumi’s face. He broke from Nezumi and came back to him, this time with nearly closed lips that opened against Nezumi’s. Nezumi could feel the movements of Shion’s jaw under his fingertips. He pulled Shion closer. Kissed him harder. Shion pushed him back. His lips were softer.

            Nezumi’s eyes were closed and he opened them as they broke apart again, for only a moment, long enough for him to see that Shion’s eyes were heavy-lidded, half closed. His eyelashes were bright white, and it was not the first time Nezumi noticed this, but it was the first time he _took note_.

            White eyelashes. They seemed remarkable, in this moment.

            Shion’s lips against his again. Nezumi felt flames underneath his skin, close to the surface. It was not just a feeling. He knew the fire was there. He was acutely aware of it rising closer and closer to the surface of his skin each time Shion broke away from him and returned again. Each time Shion exhaled onto him. Each time Nezumi opened his eyes to see those white eyelashes flickering. Each time Nezumi tasted Shion, the dough of his lips, the ridges of his teeth, the slippery heat of his tongue. Each time Shion’s fingers fumbled on Nezumi’s skin, pulled him, skated, inched up, a few reaching back into Nezumi’s hair, curling slowly.

            Nezumi closed his eyes. Instead of white eyelashes saw his fire escaping his skin. It would not harm him – a FireMaster could not burn his own skin with his own flame – but Shion would be scarred on every point of contact. His lips, certainly, immediately. His tongue. The roof of his mouth. His gums. His fingertips, the fingerprints burned right off. The tougher skin of the palms of his hands. His lifelines blurred and ended abruptly. His wrists, possibly, that skin more delicate, thin. His cheek and the skin over his jawbone and his neck where Nezumi’s fingers trickled. His earlobe where one of Nezumi’s fingertips only just touched. His nose, the bridge of it pushing against Nezumi’s cheek, the tip of it that jostled Nezumi’s own nose. His forehead that Nezumi pushed his own against just then.

            Shion made a sound in his throat. It scared Nezumi, who thought of pain, who heard the building of a shout, and he flinched back, taking his hands from Shion, who was slower to release Nezumi, who did so in a sort of alarm as Nezumi stared at him, expecting to see fire coating every part of him that Nezumi had touched, like stains Nezumi had left.

            Shion was not on fire. Nezumi exhaled so deeply he started coughing, turned away from Shion, pressed his hand to his lips as if he could stifle himself.

            “Are you okay?” Shion asked it only after Nezumi had regained his breath, straightened up again.

            He turned back around, regarded Shion’s concern.

            “Fine,” he said, after a second.

            Shion took a step closer to him. “Why did you jerk away so suddenly?”

            Nezumi had the urge to touch his own lips and shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t. “I had to cough, figured you’d prefer if I didn’t do so into your mouth. I didn’t know if you were into that.”

            Shion shook his head. “That wasn’t it. It was something else. You coughed because you exhaled so hard. It was like you were exhaling in relief.”

            “If you know so much, answer your own questions then. Clearly you’ll prefer your own responses over mine,” Nezumi muttered.

            Shion crossed his arms. “You don’t have to attack me every time I ask you something.”

            “You accused me of lying.”

            “You are lying!” Shion protested.

            Nezumi freed a hand from his pocket to weave his fingers through his bangs. He pushed them up off his face and held them on top of his head. “What are you doing, Shion? What do you want out of this? I’m a fugitive hiding from the police. I’m wanted all over the country, probably the world seeing as I’m the last FireMaster, and who isn’t fascinated by a guy who can burn shit? We’re not living together, I’m staying here until I stop coughing every five minutes and I can figure something out. That’s what this is. Don’t kid yourself, neither of us need that.”

            Shion uncrossed his arms to place his hands on his hips. “Are you done? And I thought you were going to kill me, is that no longer part of the plan, or did you just forget?”

            Nezumi dropped his hand, his bangs falling back over his forehead. “I’m not going to kill you, Shion,” he said quietly.

            He wasn’t. He knew he was supposed to, he knew he had to, but he couldn’t imagine it, he couldn’t fathom it, he refused to do it.

            He would just leave. He would get away from the man with the red eyes and the white hair and the scar like a snake, he would get as far away from Shion as he could because this would keep Shion safe, and in the end, Shion was just a part of his past like the rest of it, and Nezumi would never be free of his childhood if he wasn’t free of this man as well.

            Nezumi just wanted it all to be over. He needed it to be over.

            “What changed your mind?”

            Shion did not look relieved. He looked worried, that crease of concern Nezumi knew so well between his eyebrows.

            Nezumi shook his head. His throat hurt. “I was never going to kill you. But you knew that from the start. You know everything, don’t you?” He coughed. Hard, in a way that wracked his chest, shook something loose. He raised his hand up to cover his mouth, caught the mucus that had lodged in his throat, found it black with the soot he’d thought he was rid of.

            “Nezumi.”

            Shion was holding out a tissue, and Nezumi took it, wiped his hand off, knew that Shion was watching.

            “Does it hurt? Maybe you should rest a little.”

            Nezumi didn’t argue. Left Shion’s room to wash his hands in the bathroom, throw water over his face, then returned to Shion’s room and got in bed without a word.

            It was an excuse, not to have to say anything else to the man, not to have to hear anything else, not to have to look at him and think about his new resolve to get as far away from him as possible the first chance he could.

*

Shion woke to Nezumi’s shouting, was used to this, shook the man by his shoulder to wake him.

            “Nezumi. It’s a nightmare, Nezumi, wake up,” Shion murmured. He was half asleep. Nezumi was partly entangled in him, their legs curled around each other, but then Shion was being shoved onto his back, and Nezumi was over him, and there was a hand around his throat, and it was Nezumi’s hand, and Shion was wide awake.

            He could not breathe. Nezumi’s hand was tight across his windpipe. His skin was hot, burning. When Nezumi spoke, it was with garbled syllables –

            “ _…man with red eyes, white hair, scar like a –_ ”

            “Nezu…” Shion couldn’t get the rest of Nezumi’s name out. The man’s eyes were unfocused, heavy-lidded.

            Nezumi was strong, but he appeared half out of it. Shion jerked up his leg as hard as he could, kneed Nezumi between the legs, and the man made a low sound and let go of Shion immediately, rolled onto his side while Shion gasped.

            Shion rubbed at his throat. Breathed so hard it hurt. Slowed himself down and instructed himself through his inhales and exhales until they were even, and then he glanced at Nezumi, curled into a ball by his side.

            “Nezumi. Are you okay?”

            Nezumi groaned, his face pressed into the mattress.

            “Sorry, I had to. You were choking me. It was a reflex more than anything.”

            Nezumi freed his face from the mattress, was breathing hard as he looked at Shion. “Your reflex couldn’t have told you to kick me somewhere else?” he breathed.

            Shion smiled wanly. “I’m really sorry. Do you need ice?”

            “Shut up.”

            “I really am sorry.”

            “I won’t be able to reproduce now. FireMasters will go extinct all because of you,” Nezumi mumbled.

            Shion laughed, stifled himself with his palm.

            “Asshole.”

            “I’m really sorry. It’s not that bad though, you’re being dramatic. You are known for that.”

            “Shall I knee you to give you an accurate gage on what kind of pain I’m in?” Nezumi snapped, though he uncurled a bit, wincing as he did so.

            “Are you sure you don’t want some ice? I think we have a bag of frozen peas in the freezer, actually.”

            Nezumi blinked at Shion, and Shion watched his gaze slip down to his neck. Nezumi was reaching out, then, his fingers grazing lightly over Shion’s skin.

            “I’m okay,” Shion said, reaching up, catching Nezumi’s hand in his.

            Shion didn’t let go, rested their hands on his chest, his heartbeat thudding lightly underneath them.

            “It was a nightmare,” Nezumi said, after a moment.

            “I know,” Shion nodded. “I was trying to wake you up.”

            Nezumi uncurled a little more. Reached up with his hand that wasn’t on Shion’s chest, raised his head and slipped his arm below it, rested his cheek on the crook of his elbow.

            Shion watched him. Loved watching Nezumi, his graceful movements that became clumsier at night and the early morning, slower, more deliberate.

            “You were saying something. About me. My eyes and hair and scar,” Shion added.

            Nezumi just kept looking at him, but his fingers inside of Shion’s flinched, just barely.

            “Am I in your nightmares?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi closed his eyes. “No,” he said, after Shion had figured he wouldn’t respond. “That’s my mother. She’s telling me about you, but you’re not there.”

            Shion stared. Nezumi had never mentioned his mother before.

            Nezumi’s mother was telling Nezumi about _him_? But that didn’t make sense – Nezumi’s mother hadn’t known Shion.

            Shion wanted to ask if this was a memory or a just a dream, but he knew it had to be a dream, and he felt he shouldn’t ask because Nezumi looked as if he’d fallen asleep already, his hand still in Shion’s.

            Shion squeezed Nezumi’s fingers carefully. He tried to picture Nezumi’s mother. She was probably someone like her son – intelligent, intense, beautiful, mysterious.

            Shion imagined she might have watched Nezumi fall asleep in the same way Shion did, observed the softened lines of his face, the unexpected peacefulness of his closed eyelids, the feathers of his hair.

            Shion imagined her heart had also ached for Nezumi, in amazement of how much she cared for him, in worry of how much she wanted to keep Nezumi safe, in fear that they would one day be separated, that there would come a day when Nezumi would be too far gone from her to ever return.

            Shion imagined that Nezumi’s mother, too, might have been terrified of Nezumi, the way he could fill her entirely with warmth, and the power that gave Nezumi to take this warmth away.

*

It was Safu, the next morning, who had her hand up Nezumi’s shirt. They sat on the edge of Shion’s bed.

            “It’s wheezing,” she finally said, after making Nezumi breathe deeply for nearly two minutes to the point where he was almost dizzy.

            “Are you sure? I can’t quite tell the difference between that one and the crackling one,” Shion said, from where he leaned against his night table, hunched over the laptop he balanced precariously on his thighs.

            “Wheezing is high-pitched whistling, while crackling is just high-pitched. This sounds like whistling to me.”

            “Which one’s worse?” Nezumi asked Safu, who was pulling the stethoscope from her ears and slinging it around her neck. “Crackling or wheezing?”

            “Do I look like a doctor?” Safu sighed.

            “Sort of. With the stethoscope.”

            “It’s possible your airways are permanently damaged. You may never regain your previous physical stamina,” Safu said.

            Nezumi frowned. “You’re not a doctor, what do you know?”

            “Maybe we shouldn’t make definitive statements like that,” Shion hedged.

            “It wasn’t definitive, I said it was possible,” Safu replied, standing up. “Unlike the two of you, I don’t find the need to avoid reality. You were very stupid, Nezumi, and you damaged your body. There are consequences to your actions. You won’t be able to be as reckless as you previously were, which means running from the police might prove more difficult.”

            Nezumi rested his palms on the bed and leaned back on them, taking in Safu. “Are you worried about me?”

            “I’m worried about Shion and I, and the trouble we’re going to get into when the police find you living here. It’s the inevitable course of action. Maybe it’s time to think of a next destination.” Safu left the room then, clicking the door closed behind her, and Shion came to sit on the bed beside Nezumi, leaving the laptop on the night stand.

            “And what do you think?” Nezumi asked, glancing sideways at Shion.

            Shion looked back at him evenly. “I don’t want you to have a next destination,” he said simply.

            Nezumi clenched his jaw. He wanted to snap at Shion not to say stupid things like that, but it wasn’t stupid.

            Nezumi didn’t want to go anywhere either, and it was a feeling he wasn’t familiar with.

            Of wanting to stay. Of wanting permanence.

            Of wanting a home.

*


	7. Chapter 7

Nezumi had been at Shion and Safu’s apartment for twelve nights.

            It was Thursday, a week after Nezumi had burned down the parking garage, and his health was improving, though clearly not at the rate Nezumi would have liked.      

            Every time the man started coughing, he’d become immediately irritable, as if angry at his own body for not being healed despite the fact that Shion was still amazed he’d survived at all.

            “Be patient,” Shion increasingly told him, until Nezumi gave him such a look that Shion decided he’d stop saying anything at all. Nezumi, he knew, was not one who enjoyed being told what to do, especially, it seemed, if the advice was in his best interest.

            It was five days after Shion had kissed Nezumi – once in the morning, again in the afternoon. They had not kissed since.

            This was not particularly upsetting to Shion, who, unlike Nezumi, had patience. He also had the nights, when Nezumi would curl around him, naturally now and without question, as if it was a reflex, an instinct for him to latch onto Shion the moment he slipped beneath the blanket.

            Sometimes, more often than not as the nights continued, Nezumi’s hand would slip beneath the fabric of Shion’s t-shirt, find his skin, curl around it. Nezumi would not say anything, and neither would Shion. Shion would simply look down at Nezumi, at the peacefulness of his closed eyes, at the feathers of his hair falling across Shion’s shirt when Nezumi pressed his forehead to Shion’s shoulder.

            Shion wanted to reach out. Weave his fingers through Nezumi’s hair. Touch his cheek, trace his lips, feel the flutter of his eyelashes along the grooves of his fingerprints.

            But he didn’t do any of this. He was wary of scaring Nezumi away, like Nezumi was a stray cat that had come to sniff Shion’s fingers, and Shion knew that even to breathe might frighten him away.

            Now, it was not night. It was afternoon, when Shion had returned from work to find Nezumi doing push-ups on his floor, having cleared a space for the length of his body.

            Shion watched him from the doorway in silence until Nezumi started coughing, dropping onto his elbows and knees, his hands curling into fists.

            When he stopped coughing, he stayed very still for a moment, then slowly pushed himself off the floor and stood up, looking at Shion without surprise.

            Shion had figured Nezumi knew he was there. He wasn’t an easy man to sneak up on.

            “Hi,” Shion said.

            “How was work?” Nezumi asked, freeing his hair from his ponytail, then tying it back again, this time low and over his shoulder.

            “Fine. How are you?”

            “Fantastic,” Nezumi murmured, walking towards Shion, then past him, his body brushing Shion’s, the heat radiating off of him.

            Shion knew Nezumi did not like being cooped up in the apartment, especially not in Shion’s room where he was meant to stay. He continuously left, roaming around the living room and kitchen until Safu reprimanded him for it, and Shion was waiting for Nezumi to snap. He often found Nezumi at the windows, looking out, and he knew Nezumi wanted fresh air, but it was too dangerous for him to leave the apartment, even with his hood up as he used to do.

            The police had announced a ten-thousand-dollar reward for anyone who could turn him in. He was officially labeled a top priority fugitive. There were features on Nezumi nightly, the photograph of him from the newspaper article and warnings of the dangers he posed plastering the television until Shion changed the channel, though Safu would chastise him, telling him they needed to be aware of what they were up against.

            The police had interrogated Shion twice at work, and even Safu once, though Shion wasn’t sure how they knew she was living with Shion. He had not told Nezumi this information, but Safu had despite Shion asking her not to.

            Nezumi had not appeared concerned, but Shion knew how good of an actor the man was, how eager he was to put on an indifferent mask that didn’t necessarily indicate how he truly felt.

            Shion followed Nezumi into the living room, where Nezumi had shifted the blinds – permanently closed now – an inch to look through them.

            Shion didn’t ask him to move away from the window, though he knew he should have.

            “Want to help me with some research?” he asked, watching the lines of Nezumi’s back, following the broadness of his shoulders stretching Shion’s t-shirt.

            Nezumi didn’t turn. “Sure.”

            Shion bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. “Or we could drink.”

            At this, Nezumi turned around. “Drink?”

            “I got a bottle of scotch as a congratulatory gift from colleagues a while back that I never got around to opening,” Shion said.

            “It’s five on a Wednesday.”

            “It’s Thursday.”

            “Why do you want to drink?” Nezumi asked.

            He looked suspicious, but Shion wasn’t surprised by this.

            “You look like you could use a drink,” Shion said, figuring it would be pointless to lie.

            Nezumi stared at him for a moment, then laughed, the sound abrupt and surprising and turning into a stream of coughs, but Shion pretended it didn’t, pretended there was just the laugh, only the laugh, the sound of it that filled him.

            “Yeah, let’s drink,” Nezumi said, shaking his head after he stopped coughing, so Shion led him into the kitchen and went to the bottom of the pantry for his bottle of scotch.

            Shion preferred wine over liquor. He realized he did not know what Nezumi liked to drink, or if he even drank at all.

            “Do you drink?” he asked Nezumi, who’d grabbed two glasses and was sitting at the counter.

            Nezumi tucked his bangs behind his ears. “It’s been a while.”

            “How long is a while?” Shion had opened the bottle, the smell of alcohol immediately wafting into the small kitchen.

            He reached for a glass, poured an inch into it, then on second thought added another serving and slid it across the counter to Nezumi, who reached out for it.

            He held his fingers over the rim of the glass, spun it on the counter, didn’t lift it but watched Shion pour his own.

            “A long time,” Nezumi finally said, as Shion was placing the bottle down and settling onto his own stool, and it took Shion a moment to remember he’d asked Nezumi a question.

            “Should we down it like a shot?” he asked, and Nezumi raised his eyebrows.

            “This is more than a shot. A double at least.”

            “We don’t have to.”

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes like Shion was something complicated to be examined. “No, let’s down it.”

            Shion smiled, lifted his glass, and Nezumi clinked it with his own before they placed the glasses to their lips and knocked the scotch down.

            The taste was stronger than Shion remembered scotch being, burned on the way down, and he almost couldn’t drink his entire glass at once but persevered, slamming it down once empty on the counter louder than he’d intended to and gasping.

            Nezumi, on the other hand, was coughing again, and Shion watched him, half-amused, half-concerned.

            “Shit. That’s terrible, your colleagues must hate you to get you something so cheap,” Nezumi breathed when he’d stopped coughing.

            Shion laughed. “Don’t blame the scotch.”

            “I hate alcohol,” Nezumi said, shaking his head and sliding his glass back to Shion, a clear request for a refill.

            Shion reached out for the bottle, refilled both their glasses, watched Nezumi knock his back smoothly this time and without coughing, then followed suit.

            Nezumi slid his glass back again.

            “Maybe you should slow down,” Shion advised.

            “If you’re trying to get me drunk, you probably shouldn’t protest,” Nezumi replied, wiping the back of his hand over his lips.

            “I’m not trying to get you drunk.”

            “Yes, you are,” Nezumi said, not seeming at all bothered.

            Shion stared at him. “Is that really what you think?”

            Nezumi rolled his eyes and reached for the bottle of scotch himself, filling his glass with another double shot and hovering over Shion’s. “Do you want?”

            “Fine,” Shion said, waiting for Nezumi to finish pouring before repeating himself. “I’m not trying to get you drunk. Buzzed, maybe, to get your mind off the fact that you’re confined here and a countrywide fugitive, but I don’t have any alternative motives.”

            Nezumi took a sip from his glass, downing half but not all at once this time before setting it down again.

            He exhaled hard, cringing, then smirked. “If you say so.”

            Shion didn’t touch his glass. “What exactly do you think I’d want to get you drunk for?”

            Nezumi leaned over the counter. “Do I need to say it?”

            Shion felt his cheeks burn, the alcohol not helping matters. His entire body was warm, buzzing from the two double shots they’d downed much too quickly.

            “Do you really think that little of me?” he snapped.

            Nezumi took another sip from his glass, nearly emptying it, but not quite. A line of brown liquid swayed at the bottom of his glass when he dropped it to the counter again.

            “Some people use seduction. You use cheap scotch.”

            “I would never take advantage of you like that,” Shion said hotly, pissed at Nezumi for accusing him of such a thing. Even if he was joking, it wasn’t something to joke about.

            Nezumi gave him a loose smile that stretched idly across his face and leaned his cheek in his hand, watching Shion in a moony way.

            Shion only felt more hot.

            “Of course you wouldn’t, you’re an upstanding citizen,” he said, his words already slurring. He pointed at the bottle of scotch. “Refill?”

            “You’re not done your glass,” Shion replied warily, then watched Nezumi lift it, empty it, drop his glass back in front of Shion.

            “Refill.”

            It was not a question but a command. Shion was beginning to regret what he’d thought was a good idea, but if Nezumi was going to get plastered, then he wasn’t going to do it alone.

            Shion downed his own glass before reaching out and refilling both of theirs, accidentally pouring Nezumi another double shot, so then he had to pour himself one as well.

            A half hour later, the bottle of scotch was more than half empty, and Nezumi was vomiting into the sink.

            He had not just gotten plastered. He’d gotten sick.

            Shion, fully drunk himself, struggled to focus so that he could hold Nezumi’s hair out from his face. The room was spinning and his limbs were heavy, but he could hold his liquor better than Nezumi and fought to remain the composed one, the responsible one, despite his desire to either start running around the room or to simply lie down on the kitchen floor – he wasn’t quite sure which seemed more tempting.

            Safu came home as Nezumi was moaning between retches, and Shion looked up at the sound of the front door, convinced it was the police and so relieved that it was Safu that his knees buckled and he nearly fell over, letting go of Nezumi’s hair and grabbing onto the edge of the sink at the last minute.

            “What – Are you two drunk?” Safu demanded.

            “Safu!” Shion shouted, relieved. Here was a sober person. He didn’t have to be the sober one anymore. What a relief, he could hardly stand.

            The sound of Nezumi’s retching turned into coughing, and Shion glanced around at him, then back at Safu.

            “He’s sick.”

            “I cannot believe how foolish you two are being, getting completely intoxicated when at any moment the police could – ”

            Three hard knocks on the door interrupted Safu’s reprimand, and then there was a different person shouting. “Police! Open up!”

            Safu slammed her palm to her lips.

            Shion swayed, attempted to concentrate. This was when he was supposed to become coherent. His fear was supposed to sober him immediately, and he waited for the clouds to disperse from his head, but no such thing happened.

            Nezumi, at least, had stopped coughing.

            “Safu…” Shion mumbled, as the police knocked again. He was trying to think, to come up with a plan – Nezumi couldn’t run like this, and Shion didn’t know if Nezumi should start a fire while drunk.

            Even plastered, Shion could tell that was a bad idea.

            Safu removed her hand, shouted, “Coming!” then looked quickly at Shion. “Hide him.”

            “How – ”

            “Don’t talk, just take him and go to my room. Hide him in my closet on the floor, cover him with my clothes, then come back here. Quickly, Shion, now!” Safu hissed, urgent and so fast Shion could hardly separate her individual words, they sloshed together in his head.

            Once he could pick them apart, he realized the risk Safu was putting on herself. “But – ”

            “Don’t argue, do it!” Safu was already making her way to the front door, calling out to the police again, “Be right there!”

            Shion took a deep breath. It didn’t help. He could barely stand on his own, but grabbed Nezumi, pulled him from the sink.

            “No, don’t – ”

            “Shh!” Shion hushed, stumbling and reaching out to the fridge to right himself, dropping Nezumi, pulling him up as he heard the front door opening and the voices of the police, only a few feet away.

            If they were to lean forward, peek through the doorway, they would see Nezumi right there.

            Shion pulled him harder.

            “Ow – ”

            “Shh!”

            “Oh, hello, officers, sorry about the wait,” Safu slurred, her voice loud and garbled.

            She was pretending to be drunk, Shion realized, as he walked into the wall then bounced off quickly in surprise.

            “Shion, I’m gonna be sick…”

            They were at Safu’s door, and Shion scrabbled to open it, finally succeeding and falling through it, Nezumi falling on top of him so they were lying in a tangled heap on Safu’s carpet.

            “Oww,” Nezumi moaned, his limbs rustling over Shion’s.

            He was heavy. Shion wanted to close his eyes, knew he couldn’t. Tried to shove Nezumi off of him but was too weak.

            “Nezumi, you have to move.”

            “No.”

            Shion could hear the sound of voices outside Safu’s door, could not tell if they were closer than before or farther, whose voices they were, what was happening.

            He pushed at Nezumi again.

            “You have to, come on,” he moaned, pushing at Nezumi again, who rolled off of Shion but did not get up.

            Shion sat up too quickly. His stomach rolled and his head spun. He pressed his hand to his head and looked down at Nezumi, curled into the fetal position.

            Shion closed his eyes as tightly as he could. Took a breath, let it out slowly. Opened his eyes again and wrapped his hand around Nezumi’s wrist. “If you don’t get in Safu’s closet, we’re all going to go to jail. Get up, Nezumi.”

            He didn’t feel sober, but he felt more capable. He would hide Nezumi, then he would join Safu and help her get rid of the police. He could do it. He had to do it.

            Nezumi didn’t move, and then he did, slowly uncurling, heaving himself up, and Shion stood, helped Nezumi stand, pulled him to Safu’s closet and guided him to the corner, instructed him to sit and stay still and not speak and vomit if he absolutely had to but try his hardest not to.

            Nezumi said nothing, but looked at Shion blearily throughout it all, and then Shion started covering Nezumi with Safu’s clothes, piling them on top of him and hoping it looked haphazard and inconspicuous but not completely sure that it did.

            He didn’t have time to do anything more, and stumbled out of Safu’s room, made it back down the hallway with his hand grazing the wall and found Safu with two police officers in the living room.

            Safu was leaning against the wall, and smiled brightly at Shion when he entered.

            “Shion! The police are here!”

            Shion blinked at her, then looked at the police. There was the woman who’d interrogated him the first time at work and a man who’d knocked the last time the police came to the apartment, the night Nezumi escaped through the bathroom window and burnt _FireMaster_ in the parking garage to distract them.

            Shion attempted to smile at them. “Hello, officers.”

            “Shion,” the woman said, inspecting him closely. “Where were you?”

            “Bathroom,” Shion said, swaying on his feet and looking around for something to lean on.

            “We’re sorry to bother you again at such a clearly inconvenient time. We only came to notify you that the missing FireMaster’s case is going to be taken over from the city district police by the National Police Agency Security Bureau. They will not be as, ah, considerate.”

            “Considerate?” Safu asked. She sounded less drunk, as though she’d forgotten the act she was putting on, and Shion wondered for a moment why she was even putting on an act before remembering the two glasses on the counter.

            He tried to focus. What the officer was saying seemed important, but he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it, the meaning of it, why it was being told to them at all.

            “They will have more aggressive methods of interrogation. You should be prepared. If you do have information on the FireMaster, any lead at all that you have been hiding, I would not advise you continue hiding it. Life will become much more difficult and the consequences far graver once the NPA assumes the investigation. Officer Hayashi and I took it upon ourselves, outside our line of duty, to extend this curtesy to you.”

            “What curtesy?” Safu asked.

            Shion was grateful she was asking questions. It made him feel like less of an idiot that he had no idea what was going on. His thoughts were thick and he worked to unmuddle them, to clear room for what the officer was telling him.

            “A chance to come clean. Shion, we know, ah, have a high suspicion, that you have information on the FireMaster’s whereabouts. There would be no penalty on you or Safu if you told us now. You would not be charged as accomplices, no matter what the extent of your involvement in the FireMaster’s crimes. I give you my word, you will be protected completely, but only if you tell us now everything that you know about him or where he is. Whether it is just a hunch as to where he might be or if he is in this apartment right now hiding in a closet, it does not matter. We will keep you safe.”

            At the words _hiding in a closet_ Shion felt his skin burning. He fought to breathe evenly. To keep his head from spinning. He really wished he were leaning against something or sitting down.

            “The NPA will not give you this chance. You will face charges most probably including imprisonment once they take over the investigation and uncover anything, even the smallest bit of evidence, linking you to Nezumi’s disappearance.”

            On Nezumi’s name, Shion felt his stomach turning. He couldn’t give Nezumi in. He couldn’t.

            He glanced at Safu, knowing this involved her to, knowing he would endanger her, but when he looked at her he saw that she was not looking at him at all.

            She was looking at the officer, and then she was speaking to her.

            “We don’t know where the FireMaster is, and we have nothing to do with his disappearance. If that is all you came here to tell us, then we appreciate the effort to extend such a kind offer, but it is completely unnecessary. It does not matter to us if the NPA takes over the case. It has nothing to do with us other than the inconveniences of your visits and interrogations.”

            Safu’s voice was strong. Unwavering. Any guise of drunkenness gone, but so was any ability to doubt her.

            Even Shion, for a moment, believed her. Wondered if the man hiding in her closet was all some illusion. Perhaps they had not been housing Nezumi at all. Perhaps the last week and a half had all been in Shion’s head, or created just now in his memories, a strange and incredible drunken illusion.

            The woman officer looked at Safu, then back at Shion. Shion noted that the man behind her had said nothing at all.

            “Is this true, Shion?” she asked.

            Shion nodded clumsily. “Mmhmm, yeah. Yes.”

            The woman glanced away from Shion, in the way of the hallway, as if she knew that Shion had just dragged Nezumi through it, as if she was completely aware of Nezumi curled at the bottom of Safu’s closet covered in clothing.        

            But that was impossible. If she had known, she would have walked straight to it and found him.

            Instead, she turned, nodded at her partner, then began leading him to the front door.

            Safu drifted after them while Shion stayed where he was, watching the officers stop after opening the front door.

            “Thank you for your time. Best of luck.”

            “Good night, officers,” Safu said, then closed the door on their retreating bodies and locked it.

            She stood still by the door, and Shion thought maybe she was listening for their footsteps because that was what Shion was doing, though of course he could not hear them from the living room.

            And then Safu was walking over to the counter, taking the glasses and placing them in the sink while Shion watched her, then made himself walk over to her despite feeling as though his legs could barely hold him up.

            He finally, all at once, felt completely sober, despite the fact that his legs felt inconveniently boneless.

            “Thank you,” Shion breathed, and Safu glanced at him from where she was washing the sink clean of Nezumi’s vomit.

            “Why am I doing this?” Safu asked, staring hard at Shion, who blinked at her.

            “I don’t understand,” he managed.

            She didn’t quite look angry. Confused, maybe, but there was something else there, a strange resolve Shion couldn’t place.

            “Tell me why I’m doing this, Shion. Because I think I understand now, I think I fully grasp what it is that’s happening here, but I need you to tell me, I need you to confirm it so that I don’t feel like a complete fool.”

            Shion swallowed. He understood. He knew what Safu wanted to hear, and he knew that it was true the moment before he said it, or perhaps long before this moment entirely.

            “I love him.”

            Silence filled the kitchen but for the water from the faucet, trickling into the basin of the sink. Safu looked at him another moment, stretching out this silence, then nodded. “Then I don’t regret it. Now go and make sure he didn’t vomit on my clothes, please, although I’ll have to wash them anyway, the two of you reek.”

            Shion retreated out of the kitchen, making his way down the hallway and to Safu’s room, opening the closet and kneeling down in front of the large pile of clothes, pulling them off one by one to uncover Nezumi beneath them, his back against the wall and his knees pulled tight to his chest, looking straight at Shion in a heavy-lidded way.

            “They’re gone,” Shion said, though that must have been obvious.

            “Who?” Nezumi asked. He sounded exhausted, his voice wispy.

            Shion reached out. Tucked Nezumi’s bangs behind his ear, let his fingers linger for a moment against Nezumi’s skin, then pulled his hand back. “Come. Let me wash you up and get you to bed.”

            Nezumi smiled a lazy smile, reached his hands out, and Shion took them, pulled Nezumi up, half-carried him to the bathroom where he helped the man undress and brought him clean clothes, figuring it was best to leave showering for the morning.

            Shion dressed Nezumi, pulling the man’s arms through his own t-shirt, freeing the length of his hair from the collar of it, guiding Nezumi’s feet into the legs of his sweatpants. He helped Nezumi brush his teeth, brushing his own beside him, then washed his own face before splashing Nezumi’s, who giggled in a breathy way, his hands fumbling on Shion during the entire process – fondling Shion’s hair, clutching Shion’s t-shirt, grazing Shion’s lips.

            Shion knew Nezumi was fully plastered. Would doubtfully remember any of it this in the morning. He understood that Nezumi was a touchy person, had witnessed that the past several nights.

            He had a feeling that Nezumi was lonely. That it had been a while – a very very long time – since Nezumi had touched another person. That this desire came out of him only when he was unaware of his own actions, only when he let down his usual guards, only when he was relaxed through semi-consciousness or the impairments of intoxication.

            Shion didn’t mind it. Liked to be touched. But he did not touch Nezumi, not now when he could have so easily, not now when Nezumi was intoxicated and could so easily be taken advantageous of.

            Shion did not want to take advantageous of Nezumi. It made him angry and so incredibly sad, the thought of someone taking advantageous of Nezumi, who worked so hard to build walls around himself, to protect himself, to keep himself safe, not having had anyone else to watch over him for so many years.

            So Shion only reached out to touch Nezumi in order to take his hand, to guide him to his bed, to turn him on his side just in case he had anything else left inside of him, to tuck him in with the blanket all the way up over Nezumi’s shoulders, wanting the man to be warm.

            Shion walked around the bed, slid in beside him, facing him. He watched Nezumi look at him with his heavy-lidded eyes, glassy and unfocused.

            “G’night,” Nezumi mumbled, and Shion thought about kissing him, but didn’t.

            “Good night, Nezumi. Sleep well.”

            Nezumi’s eyes closed, but Shion continued to look at him. To try to see this man as a danger and a threat as he was considered by an increasingly large percent of the public. But Shion could only see someone who was lonely, and in Shion’s opinion, that made Nezumi more vulnerable than anyone who might have feared him.

*

Nezumi woke hungover.

            He untangled himself from Shion, lugged himself out of bed, and stumbled to the bathroom where he dry-retched over the sink until he started coughing, hacking up more blackened mucus that he turned on the faucet to wash out from the sink.          

            He washed his face, brushed his teeth, peed, then got in the shower, stripping as he waited for the water to warm and getting in before it was as hot as he liked it, lifting his head to the spray and sighing as it coated his hair.

            Nezumi stood still for several minutes before actually starting the process of showering, soaping and shampooing and applying conditioner and then standing still several minutes more before he put in some thought on how much water he was wasting.

            He washed out his hair quickly and got out with suds still clinging to his shoulders. He yanked his towel from the hook over the door, dried himself, wiping the suds off and grabbing his dirty clothes from the bathroom floor, returning to Shion’s room where the man was awake, sitting up in bed and rubbing at his eyes.

            “What time is it?” he mumbled, not taking his knuckles from his eyes.

            Nezumi realized he had no idea. It might have been the middle of the night, for all he knew. He glanced at the clock, was glad it was indeed morning.

            “Quarter after seven.”

            Shion usually set his alarm for six when he worked. Nezumi figured he must have forgotten the night before.

            He turned from Shion, rummaged through Shion’s drawers for boxers, found a clean pair and dropped his towel to pull it on, remembering Shion behind him after a moment, and he glanced back to see Shion staring at him unabashedly.

            “Do you mind?” Nezumi asked mildly, adjusting the waistband over his hips.

            “You’re the one who walked in here and started undressing in front of me.”

            Nezumi pushed his bangs from his eyes and turned back to look for a t-shirt. He didn’t really care that Shion was looking at him, but the guy could at least pretend not to stare.

            “That’s a burn.”

            Nezumi didn’t register what Shion had said at first, but when he did, he froze, his hand around one of Shion’s t-shirts.

            He moved after a moment, his actions jerkier than usual as he pulled the t-shirt – dark blue – over his torso, tugging the hem of it down, but it was short on him like all of Shin’s shirts, the edge of it just grazing the band of Shion’s boxers.

            “When did that happen?”

            “Guess,” Nezumi said, hoping Shion wouldn’t, picking out a pair of Shion’s sweats from the heaps of his clothing on the floor and pulling them on, bending down to fold the cuffs until they reached his knees.

            “But – Why didn’t you just move the flames away from you?”

            “I was distracted,” Nezumi replied dryly, making his disinterest in the topic clear, but of course Shion would barrel on with his own curiosity anyway.

            Shion was silent for a few seconds, and then, very gently like he thought Nezumi was some fragile child – “You can talk about it with me.”

            Nezumi gritted his teeth.

            _Inhale. Exhale._

“Don’t you have to get ready for work?” he asked mildly.

            “I don’t want to push you – ”

            “Then don’t,” Nezumi said shortly, leaving the bedroom, shutting Shion’s door behind him, pressing his hand to his forehead because it throbbed from his hangover.

            He made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, found Safu there, standing by the counter with one hand around a mug and the other the newspaper.

            “Morning,” she said, not looking up. “You shouldn’t be out of Shion’s room.”

            Nezumi chose not to reply, filling a mug with coffee from the carafe rather than getting water as he’d planned.

            “The NPA’s undertaking of your investigation is front page news.”

            “What?” Nezumi asked, and Safu looked up from the paper.

            “Right, your intoxication levels probably caused you to black out last night. Officers came yesterday, and Shion had to hide you in my closet. They weren’t here to search; they informed us that the NPA would be taking over the case from the local city bureau. Apparently the NPA employs more…assertive investigation techniques. Two city police officers wanted to give Shion and I a chance to disclose – with complete immunity from charges or penalty – any information we may have on your whereabouts.”

            Nezumi placed his coffee mug down on the counter. Safu’s gaze was hard, unflinching, and Nezumi had to work harder to keep any feeling from his own expression around her than anyone he’d ever met.

            He breathed slowly. Didn’t show his surprise.

            “You know what I like about you?” he asked, and Safu’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “You’re honest. You don’t give a shit about anyone’s feelings but Shion’s, but even with him, you don’t bother with the crap other people use in excess to cover up what they really mean.”

            Safu said nothing, but set down her own coffee and the newspaper on the counter and looked at Nezumi fully.

            Nezumi leaned closer to her. “So why don’t you cut the crap I don’t usually have to deal with from you and straight out tell me how difficult I’m making your lives and how grateful I should be for the sacrifices you both are making for me.”

            Safu raised an eyebrow, then grabbed her coat from where it lay on the stool and pulled it on. “You’re making our lives difficult and you should be grateful for the sacrifices we’re making for you.”

            Nezumi smirked. He did enjoy her. “I already knew that. Why did you tell me about the officers?”

            “To share with you the fun evening you missed,” she said, loosening her short hair from the collar of her jacket.

            “Try again,” Nezumi replied, following Safu to the front door, which she unlocked, though she looked at him rather than opening it.

            “I told you about the officers because I want you to know why you shouldn’t just be grateful. You should be on your knees thanking us. Thanking Shion, because I’m only lying for him. I like you, Nezumi, but not enough to sacrifice my own freedom for you.”         

            “I’ll bake him a cake,” Nezumi said, leaning on the entryway wall beside the doorframe.

            “Why don’t you give him something he actually asks you for,” Safu suggested, and then she was pushing Nezumi by the chest, who took a step back, surprised, until she opened the front door and he realized she was pushing him out of the way in case anyone was walking through the floor hallway.

            Nezumi watched the door close, then heard the turn of her key in the lock.

            “She has a good point.”

            Nezumi jumped, turned around to see Shion by the sink, drinking from Nezumi’s coffee mug.

            “Did I just successfully sneak up on you?” Shion asked, taking the mug from his lips. He was dressed for work but for his tie, slung around his neck but untied.

            “What do you want then, if a cake just won’t cut it?” Nezumi asked.

            Shion laughed. “You won’t give me it.”

            “Try me.”

            “I already have. Several times.”

            Nezumi waited, watching Shion set down his mug to tie his tie.

            Shion’s fingers moved deftly, and then he was tightening the knot of it, smoothing it down his chest and looking at Nezumi.

            “I want answers to five of my questions.”

            “Only five?” Nezumi asked, smirking. The kid could have anything, and he wanted knowledge. Typical.

            “If I said too many, you would have refused.”

            “I haven’t agreed,” Nezumi pointed out.

            “Three questions then. And full answers, the truth, not cryptic-Nezumi answers.”

            Nezumi laughed. “What’s the first question?”

            “Do we have a deal?”

            “What’s the first question?” Nezumi repeated.

            Shion had walked over to him, was standing in front of the door with his coat as Safu had been three minutes before.

            “I have to get to work. I’ll ask when I get back. Think about your answers from now.”

            “I don’t know what you’ll ask.”

            Shion looked at him, smiled lightly. “Guess,” he replied, and then he was pushing Nezumi just as Safu had, unlocking the front door and opening it, closing it behind him and locking it again with a click of his key.

            Nezumi stared at the door as if Shion might return, then stepped over to the counter and picked up the newspaper Safu had left.

            He began reading the article on the front page, ignoring the photograph in the middle, the same one that had been used the very first time Nezumi had been in the paper only just over four months ago, though Nezumi could have sworn it’d been years.

*


	8. Chapter 8

“Now is when the scotch would be useful,” Nezumi said.

            He was pacing, but Shion wasn’t entirely sure Nezumi was aware of that.

            Shion sat on the edge of his bed, watching him.

            “I was kidding, Nezumi, you don’t have to answer my questions.”

            “You weren’t kidding.”

            “I also don’t actually expect you to answer.”

            “What’s your first question?” Nezumi asked, as he had the moment Shion returned to the apartment from work, as he had again after Shion insisted he needed something to eat first, as he had a third time when Shion led him back to his room only a minute before.

            “I’m not going to force you to talk about something you’re not ready to talk about yet.”

            “What’s your first question?” Nezumi repeated, for the fifth time since Shion had walked through the door, and this time he stopped pacing, looked at Shion fully, and Shion realized Nezumi was ready.

            Nezumi wasn’t going to let himself be forced into anything. He wanted to talk about his past. He wanted to tell Shion.

            Shion regarded him for a moment, then thought about it, though he didn’t have to think long. There was one question that had been on his mind constantly since Nezumi had mentioned it.

            Since Nezumi had mentioned _her._

            “What was your mother like?”

            This, clearly, was not what Nezumi had been expecting. The hardness of his expression fell away and his eyes widened, and for a moment Shion thought he looked scared until with a blink Nezumi was closed off again.

            “I don’t remember her,” he said, shortly.

            Shion did not know if this was a lie or not. He thought it was, but he wasn’t going to push Nezumi.

            He understood this was a hard question. He regretted starting with it. He didn’t want to hurt Nezumi, to make him sad.

            Shion only wanted Nezumi to realize he was not alone. That he could talk about what he felt so deeply inside that he refused to acknowledge it until it bubbled up in the nights, had him gasping and shouting, sweating and shaking.

            Shion nodded. “Okay. I understand, you were young, I didn’t expect – ”  
            “She had soft hands,” Nezumi said quietly, his eyes lowered to somewhere on Shion’s floor, but Shion had a feeling he was not seeing anything in the room at all.

            Shion held his breath. Didn’t want to miss a syllable, but Nezumi looked as though he was done speaking.

            Shion waited another minute, counting his head. Nezumi didn’t move, but just as Shion opened his lips, he was speaking again as if he’d never paused at all.

            “And she had dreams about the future.”

            “The future?” Shion hadn’t meant to speak, did so accidentally, and Nezumi looked up at him in surprise, as if only just noticing he was there.

            The surprise smoothed out, and Nezumi nodded calmly. “Yes.”

            Shion had never seen Nezumi appear so relaxed. The expression on this man confused him, but comforted him. He wanted to smile, seeing Nezumi look so clam.

            “Like a fortune teller?” Shion asked gently, not wanting to break this spell on Nezumi.

            There had been rumors that few FireMasters had other abilities. Some said they could perform magic. Others said they had telepathy.

            There was talk of fortune telling too, but Shion had never believed any of it.

            “She only saw moments. Not often, and she mostly didn’t speak of them. She would only tell me, she’d say – _I saw the future last night_ – and I’d ask what it was like, and she’d tell me to have patience, that I’d have to wait and see for myself.” Nezumi’s smile was small, the briefest lift of the very corner of his lips.

            Shion’s heart ached for him.

            And then Nezumi was no longer smiling, was focusing back on Shion, was clearly seeing him again and not whatever he had been seeing as he’d smiled. “She only told me about one of the moments she saw,” he said, slowly, and Shion felt a sudden cold inside of him.

            “What was it?” Shion asked, because he knew Nezumi wanted him to ask this even though Shion wasn’t entirely certain that he wanted to know.

            Nezumi’s eyes skated over Shion’s features. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, Shion knew it was his mother’s words and not his own that he was speaking. _“I saw a man with red eyes, white hair, and a scar like a snake. He was burning alive. It was you, my bright star, it was your fire. You must – ”_

            Nezumi stopped. Shion waited, his breath held, but Nezumi said nothing else.

            “You must what?” Shion asked quietly.

            Nezumi looked at him. Shrugged. “Don’t know. She died before she could finish her sentence.”

            Shion dug his palms into his knees. “Nezumi – ”

            “She called me her bright star. I remember that too.”

            Shion stood up. He felt shaky, walked towards Nezumi who watched him without speaking, stood in front of him, didn’t reach out but wanted to.

            “What’s your next question, Shion?” Nezumi asked, a whisper. His eyes were bright, like stars, and Shion could imagine why his mother would have looked at Nezumi and seen nothing but the most brilliant parts of the night sky.

            “You know she would have been proud of you, right?” Shion asked, and Nezumi turned away from him, his inhale sharp over his parted lips.

            “For what?” Nezumi asked, almost harshly, and when he blinked, a trail of brightness leaked from his eye, cut across his cheek.

            Shion stared at his profile. “For surviving,” he answered, and Nezumi exhaled hard.

            Shion could see him swallow. Watched him raise his hand, wipe at the streak on his cheek.

            “Shion.”

            “Yeah?”

            Nezumi didn’t look at him. “Could you get out?”

            Shion blinked, then stepped back from Nezumi, turned away from him, walked out of his room and closed the door gently behind him.

            He was not offended. Nezumi needed time to himself, but it wasn’t like he could go to his own room, it wasn’t like he could leave the apartment. He had nowhere to go.

            Shion went into the living room, found that Safu had arrived home and was on the couch with the news on a low volume, though she was looking down at a stack of papers on her lap.

            When Shion sat beside her, she looked up, her eyes quickly assessing Shion’s features. “What happened?”

            “Nezumi told me about his mother,” Shion said, after a moment.

            Safu nodded, tucked her hair behind her ears. “I think he needs to leave.”

            Shion took a moment to understand what his friend was telling him. “What?”

            Safu nodded at the television screen. “I expected them to come today. They’ll definitely come tomorrow.”

            “The NPA?” Shion asked, glancing at the news.

            “They’ll search the apartment for him just like the local police, and I doubt their search will be superficial. The last time our apartment was searched, Nezumi was able to get away through his own physicality and then the use of fire to distract the police. But he’s weaker now, and is it safe for him to produce fire again? His lungs and airways still aren’t healed. I don’t think he should be around smoke for a while. The NPA will also have much more resources. They may surround the entire apartment building and make it impossible for Nezumi to get out through a window. I don’t believe he’s safe here any longer.”

            “He has nowhere to go, Safu.”

            “No one knew of his existence for twenty years, Shion. He knows how to hide. He’s not staying here for safety, he’s staying here for you,” Safu said. “Surely you must have realized that by now.”

            Shion stared. He had not realized that, but hearing Safu say it made it seem obvious.

            Nezumi had been on his own for twenty years, and no one had ever sighted him. It would have been picked up by the news immediately. Even when there had been search parties actively looking for him, even when he’d been only six years old, he’d managed to stay hidden.

            Which meant Safu’s second point must have been right as well. If Nezumi wasn’t staying here for protection, he must have been staying here because –

            “You really didn’t know?” Safu asked, then smiled gently. “For someone so smart, you really do lose all rational thought when it comes to that last surviving FireMaster, don’t you?”

            “He could be here for the free food and easy shelter,” Shion pointed out.

            “Not to mention the comfy bed and the cute man in it,” Safu teased, and she laughed when Shion pushed her shoulder.

            “Safu!”

            Safu’s laugh faded into a smile, and then even that was gone. “I do need you to seriously consider that it will be best for him if he leaves. As soon as possible. I know you want him to stay, Shion, but he will be found, and every day on the news they paint him as more of a menace. The news and media are being used to condition the public into truly believing Nezumi is a murderous criminal, either by his own choice or some FireMaster biology. I worry what law enforcement plans to do with him, if they find him.”

            Shion glanced at the television again, watched the parking garage burn down again – footage that had been shown nearly nightly.

            “How soon is as soon as possible?” he asked.

            “Tonight.”

            Shion stared at her. “Safu – ”

            “He’ll leave if you tell him to. You told me once that you felt as if you had to keep him safe. If that is still the case, then this is what you have to do.”

            Shion wished he could argue with his friend, but he knew Safu was right. He took a breath, nodded. “Okay. I’ll give him five minutes, and then I’ll tell him.”

            Safu reached over, squeezed Shion’s hand. “If there’s anyone I’d have confidence in to take care of himself, it’s Nezumi. He’ll be fine.”

            Shion knew Nezumi could take care of himself. But that didn’t make it any easier to let him.

*

Nezumi was looking out the window when there was a knock on Shion’s door.

            He didn’t turn. “Come in.”

            The door opened, then closed again. “You shouldn’t stand so close to the window.”

            “Why? Because the NPA has a perimeter on your apartment building?” Nezumi asked, turning to look at Shion and stepping away from the window.

            “What?”

            “They’re undercover in pedestrian cars, no actual cruisers. But it’s obvious,” Nezumi replied.

            Shion opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I was going to tell you to leave,” he finally said.

            Nezumi leaned against the edge of Shion’s desk. “Without saying please?”

            “You don’t seem surprised.”

            “The NPA took the case. They’ll search your apartment again, probably tomorrow if not tonight. I won’t be able to sneak out your window when they’ve got a perimeter. Of course, I’d have to leave,” Nezumi replied, enjoying Shion’s shock.

            “Safu just told me all of that. I didn’t realize it. Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “And miss your questionnaire? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

            Shion looked a mixture of sheepish and upset, and Nezumi regretted teasing the guy.

             “Safu thinks you should leave tonight.”

            “She’s a smart girl,” Nezumi said slowly.

            “Where are you going to go?”

            Nezumi took in the crease between Shion’s eyebrows. The deliberate tilt forward of his chin. His white eyelashes.

            “Best not to say in case they try to torture information out of you,” he said, offering Shion a smile before walking to the corner of Shion’s room, picking up the only articles of his own clothing in Shion’s apartment – the jeans, t-shirt, button-up, and hoodie he’d been wearing in prison when he broke out.

            The clothes had been washed, and Nezumi shed Shion’s t-shirt and sweats to pull them on. He shoved on his boots lying beside them and headed out Shion’s door, aware of Shion following him into the kitchen.

            “Mind if I grab a snack for the road?” he asked, opening the cupboard.

            “Wait, Nezumi. Shouldn’t you think of a plan?”

            “I have a plan. Avoid the cops.”

            “Something a little more concrete.”

            “Avoid the cops through speed, stealth, street smarts, and quick wit.” Nezumi picked a granola bar for energy and closed the cupboard door to find Safu beside him.

            “That’s my granola bar,” she said.

            “Goodbye present?” Nezumi suggested, and she smiled.

            “You should take more than that,” Shion cut in.

            “I’ll be fine,” Nezumi said.

            “You don’t have to leave this instant, you can take a half hour, think about this, figure out a destination,” Shion insisted, and Nezumi looked at him.

            No, he couldn’t do any of that. He didn’t want to leave right now, and a half hour wouldn’t help that, a half hour more of noticing Shion’s white eyelashes, of hearing the man say his name – that wouldn’t help at all.

            “What difference is a half hour going to make, Shion?” he asked, and Shion stared back at him helplessly.

            “You’d be more prepared.”

            “I lived like this for twenty years. I don’t need much more preparation,” Nezumi said, slipping the granola bar into his back pocket.

            “Give me three minutes, at least,” Safu said, and then she disappeared from the kitchen before anyone could argue.

            Nezumi lifted his hands up, pulled his hair into a ponytail.

            “Are you going to leave the city?” Shion asked.

            “Probably.”

            “Will you come back? When the search dies down? It will die down. After a couple weeks, a month, a few months at most.”

            Nezumi slipped his hairband from his wrist, wrapped it once, twice, again around his ponytail, dropped his hands. “What, you’re not planning on waiting for me, are you?” Nezumi asked, smirking because he wanted Shion to think it was a joke, to think the idea of waiting for him was ridiculous because it was, it really was, he better not do it.

            Shion just looked at him, then stepped forward, reached up, his hands on Nezumi’s cheeks, pulling him, and Nezumi had been kissed by this man before, knew what to expect, but Shion’s lips were harder now and his fingernails dug into Nezumi’s skin.

            Nezumi had not intended to, had instructed himself not to, but found himself kissing Shion back, his hand reaching around to the back of Shion’s neck and sliding upward so that his fingers could clutch the soft locks of Shion’s bright hair. With his other hand he grasped Shion’s waist, dug his own fingers into the fabric of Shion’s t-shirt, felt it bunching up under his hand as he pulled Shion closer towards him.

            It was Shion who pushed him back, away from him, and Nezumi stood there in the absence of him as suddenly as he’d been kissed.

            “That was cliché,” Nezumi commented, after wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

            “What if I did wait for you?” Shion said, looking completely serious, and Nezumi ran his fingers through his bangs.

            “Don’t,” Nezumi advised, and then Safu was back with a black backpack which she brought to the cupboard, holding it open and grabbing the box of granola bars.

            Nezumi watched her overturn the box into the backpack, throw in a bag of Goldfish, then close the cupboard and go to the fridge, where she picked out four apples and a pear and added them to the pack.

            “That’s all the fruit we’ve got. There’s a spare sweatshirt in here too, three pairs of socks and boxers each, a razor, your toothbrush, and a new tube of toothpaste. I’m sure you’re completely competent in stealing, tricking, and seducing as expedients to acquire your means of survival, but in case you’re rusty, this should give you time to get back in the swing of things,” Safu said, smiling lightly and holding out the backpack to Nezumi, who stared at it before taking it warily.

            “Thank you,” he said slowly, pulling a strap over his shoulder.

            “Don’t get caught, and consider us even,” Safu replied, then stepped forward, was hugging Nezumi before he realized what she was doing.

            He stood, shocked. He could not remember the last time he’d been hugged. The last person who had hugged him.

            He thought, vaguely, that it must have been his mother. Yes, that sounded right.

            Nezumi considered hugging Safu back, but couldn’t get his arms to raise up, couldn’t get himself to move, and so he stayed completely still and tried to make sense of his battering heart.

            Safu’s arms squeezed him like a pulse, and then there was her breath in his ear.

            “Don’t get caught,” she said again, this time just a whisper, this time not a joke but a command.

            Nezumi nodded numbly, and then her arms were loosening, but before she was gone from him, there were her lips pressed to his cheek, right at the very corner of his lips.

            “They’ve got a perimeter around the house,” Safu said, when she’d stepped back from him.

            Nezumi resisted from touching his cheek where her lips had been. “I know.”

            “Good.”

            Nezumi looked at Shion, who had that worried crease between his eyebrows that Nezumi wanted to smooth down with the pad of his thumb.

            Shion nodded at him, but didn’t say anything.

            “You’ll be fine,” Nezumi told him, and the crease deepened, but Shion didn’t respond.

            Nezumi turned away from them. Walked to the front door, reached out. Unlocked it. Thought about looking back but didn’t.

            Instead, he opened the door, walked through it, and closed it behind him.

            Nezumi didn’t have a key to lock it, and so he didn’t have to pause, walked straight to the stairs and descended them quickly, took Shion’s sweatshirt from the backpack Safu had given him and pulled it on over his own jacket at the bottom of the stairwell, then pulled the hood over his head before slipping out the emergency back entrance so he could avoid the front lobby.

            The night air was the first breath of fresh air Nezumi had had in several days, and he breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the cool of it, waiting for its relief.

*

Nezumi, somehow, completely evaded the NPA’s perimeter, and even three hours after he left, he had not been caught.

            Shion knew this because he didn’t move from the couch where he watched the news.

            “It’s almost midnight. You should go to bed,” Safu advised, from beside him where she also had not moved.

            She had a stack of exams on her lap, but from what Shion could tell, she hadn’t graded one of them in the three hours they’d been sitting there.

            “You go on,” Shion said.

            “He won’t get caught.”

            “I know he won’t,” Shion said, but he didn’t move.

            He was fully aware that Nezumi was more competent at hiding than the entire police force – including the NPA and all of their resources – were at finding. He did not doubt Nezumi’s ability to look after himself.

            But it was nearly midnight, and therefore the only viable alternative to sitting in front of this television and staring at the news was going to bed. Was returning to his room, empty of Nezumi, was slipping under his blankets, unencumbered by Nezumi fists and the tangle of his legs, was settling onto his mattress, vacant of Nezumi’s warmth and reaching limbs. To watch the news was an excuse to pretend that he had some concern, some need to stay awake and vigilant and watch for a mention of some sighting of Nezumi, even though Shion knew there would be none.

            Because if Shion didn’t have this excuse, all he had was an obligation to go to sleep, and Shion didn’t know that he could do that without Nezumi’s breath skating onto his neck, without Nezumi’s hands slipping up under his shirt, without Nezumi’s hips jostling his own, without Nezumi’s legs hooking over his.

            Without Nezumi, Shion would have the entire blanket to himself, but that wouldn’t be enough, Shion knew without doubt, to keep out the cold.

*

It was surprising how easily it came back, living on the street, constantly on the move, absolutely on his own.

            And while Nezumi thought of Shion, and even Safu, more often than he would have preferred, he did not loathe returning to his previous way of living. He had missed the freedom, the fresh air, even the stars, which he only saw again once he was several miles out of the city. Nezumi had always been restless, always liked to move, and so it was easy to convince himself that he preferred this over the cramped apartment he’d been stuck in for over a week.

            Nezumi found that falling back into the habit of lying himself into believing that he did not miss the past at all was easier than he’d anticipated as well.

*

Even two weeks after Nezumi was gone, Shion found it difficult to adjust.

            He would wake in the middle of the night, certain he’d heard Nezumi shouting and determined to wake the man from a nightmare only to find that there was no one in bed alongside him, there was no one shouting at all.

            He would return from work eager to share with Nezumi some part of his day he knew the man would find amusing – such as if one of Shion’s coworkers had made a fool of himself during a presentation – only to find his room hollow of the man who used to pace it.

            He would make tea and pour two mugs in the evenings only to remember Nezumi was not sitting on a stool at the counter, running one of his hands through his bangs and reaching out with the other to accept the mug. Shion took to offering the spare mug to Safu, who, to her credit, always took it with thanks despite the strong suspicion Shion had that she was fully aware it had not been meant for her at all.

            They watched the news nightly, scoured the newspapers by morning, but while there were constant mentions of Nezumi, there were never any sightings or uncovered hints as to where Nezumi might be.

            The NPA had searched Shion and Safu’s apartment four times since Nezumi’s departure – once in the early morning after the very night he’d left. Each time, when they angrily demanded from Shion and Safu information on where the last surviving FireMaster could be, both of them could truthfully report that they had no idea, none at all.

*

Nezumi had eaten the fruit from Safu’s backpack the first week, but still had the entire box of granola bars and half a bag of Goldfish.

            It was nighttime, three weeks from leaving Shion and Safu’s apartment, and Nezumi was contemplating treating himself to a granola bar when he saw the fire.

            He was far from the city, not quite deep into Japan’s countryside, but close enough to it that it’d been a while since he’d seen a house. Above the treeline and across the road from him, smoke rose from flickering flames, and Nezumi knew without needing to see the structure that this was a house fire.

            Nezumi hesitated. He had been suspecting to come upon many fires in his travels, anticipating traps set up for him by the NPA, but there hadn’t been any, and Nezumi began considering the fact that the NPA would not want to put lives in danger.

            This fire was probably real. Not a ruse. There may have been people in the house, people Nezumi had nothing to do with, no obligation to save, but he found himself crossing the road, slipping through the trees, entering the backyard of a large expanse of a house that was aflame from the second story to the roof.

            Nezumi listened, and below the familiar rushing sound and the crackling, he thought he could hear screams.

            Nezumi looked around him. There were neighbors, but a decent expanse away. If they were looking out their windows, however, they would definitely notice if fire was suddenly leaving the house and streaming towards a person on the back lawn.

            Nezumi looked back at the flames. He hadn’t created any since he’d taken off from Shion’s, but consuming fire was not the same as conjuring it.

            Nezumi enjoyed making fire disappear. He liked the feeling of it, below his skin rather than above it. His veins thrummed with desire for the warmth of it.

            Even if the neighbors were watching, if they called the police, Nezumi knew he could get away from them.

            He reached out a hand, pulled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and called the flames to him, watched as they streamed quickly away from the house in a rope barreling towards him, crashing into the crease where his hand met his wrist and sinking into his skin.

            There was a large amount of fire. Nezumi had only consumed a quarter of it when he heard the sirens. There would be firetrucks among them, and Nezumi knew it would be best to leave now, but the screams from inside the house seemed louder now, and he could tell there was a child – a baby.

            Nezumi knew what a baby sounded like, when it screamed.

            Nezumi did not trust the firetrucks to douse the fire as quickly as he could take it. He didn’t want the firemen to have to worry about ridding the fire – he wanted them to get into the house, to get the baby out of it. The smoke would be clouding its little lungs. It wouldn’t have long to survive.

            Half the fire was inside of Nezumi when he could see the lights of the police cars and firetrucks, and then they were pulling up onto the road in front of the house where Nezumi could not see them, but he could hear them quite clearly.

            Nezumi was taking in the fire as quickly as he could. There was enough smoke around him now to make him cough, and when he did so, his concentration faltered, fire fell halfway towards him and lit the lawn aflame, spread, and Nezumi had to collect that too, made himself stop coughing long enough to consume more flame, then couldn’t hold his breath any longer and was coughing again, harder, dropping fire again and watching it spread.

            There was someone shouting at him, several people running towards him, and Nezumi was pissed at them, wanted them to run into the house instead.

            “Shit,” Nezumi breathed. He couldn’t stop coughing. He pulled the fire towards him anyway, but he couldn’t focus on it the way he was supposed to, and instead of slipping into his wrist it was burning him, catching on Shion’s sweatshirt, setting Nezumi on fire so that he was surrounded by flame and smoke and could not breathe at all, could not stop coughing.

            “On your knees!”

            Nezumi dropped, but not because he was commanded to. He dropped because he could not hold himself up. He could not inhale without coughing the oxygen back out. The lawn around him was on fire from the flames he had dropped. The crying of the baby was right in his ears, and he realized there was the possibility that it was all in his head, that it had been in his head all along, that he was not hearing this moment at all but a memory, that the baby he heard crying was one he was meant to be watching over because babies couldn’t control their fires, and someone always had to watch them when they slept, and Nezumi had insisted because he was a fast learner, because his control over fire was unlike any that anyone in his village had ever seen, because he was special and everyone told him so, his mother told him so, so he’d believed it, he’d thought he could do it, even at six years old he’d thought he could keep everyone safe.

            But he couldn’t, and then he’d been surrounded by fire, and then it’d been burning him, but he hadn’t cared because his mother was holding his hand in hers, and her hands were so soft that he almost could not feel the flames ripping open the skin on his back.

            _I saw a man with red eyes, white hair, and a –_

            Nezumi’s hands were on the burning grass. His palms seared. He couldn’t catch his breath. All he heard was his own coughing, thick in his ears, and nothing else. He closed his eyes tightly.

            _Concentrate_. _Survive. Survive._

            His skin no longer burned. There was warmth skating underneath it. He opened his eyes, saw the flames around him dipping into his body. He couldn’t breathe but didn’t need to. He didn’t need oxygen to survive, he only needed fire, and he kept consuming it, didn’t stop, and then there was nothing left but darkness and smoke and shouting, and Nezumi closed his eyes again as he crumbled, aware that he was passing out and not having the energy to do anything at all about it.

*


	9. Chapter 9

Shion was in a meeting when Safu called, and he let the call go to voicemail before his phone lit up with a text notification from her.

            He glanced around the conference table, then opened his text, reading without registering the words and having to read them again before standing up abruptly.

            “Shion?”

            “Excuse me,” Shon said, rushed, and left the conference room with his phone, calling Safu the moment he was out. “What do you mean, they don’t know his condition?” he demanded, the moment the ringing stopped to indicate his friend had picked up the call.

            “Have you seen the news?” Safu’s voice was urgent.

            “No, I’ve been in meetings all day. Safu – ”

            “He was halfway across the country, there was a large farmhouse on fire, police arrived to find him in the backyard nearly unconscious with fire on the lawn around him. On the news they’re questioning if he started it.”

            “What? How could they even – He wouldn’t – ”

            “Obviously, Shion, I know that. It’s just rumors, but the public will eat it up. The news has been painting Nezumi as a dangerous criminal for weeks, what are people supposed to think?”

            “In your text you said – you said he – ”

            “My guess is he inhaled too much smoke trying to put the fire out and started coughing, losing control over the fire so that it began to spread around him. From the footage, it looks like his clothing was on fire too, he might have been burned, the news aren’t giving much information on his condition, all they say is he’s in custody and has not yet woken up to answer questions.”

            “He hasn’t woken up?” Shion asked. His voice was small, his heart too fast.

            “There was a lot of fire, Shion. The footage – it’s not good. It’s obvious that he was not in control of it. I have no idea why he had even attempted to do anything, the wreckage of the house makes it clear how big of a fire it was, he had to have known he wouldn’t be able to consume it all in his condition, this isn’t like him, putting his life at risk for such a pointless task – ”

            “Did he manage to save the people in the house?” Shion asked, and for a moment, there was silence on the end of the line.

            When Safu spoke, her voice was hard. “It was empty, Shion. The news won’t disclose the cause of it, and if I had to guess, I’d say the NPA caused it, though of course they’ll just try to feed into the idea that it was Nezumi’s fault.”

            Shion felt his stomach drop. “The NPA are our country’s law enforcement, Safu. Maybe they wanted to catch Nezumi, but their priority is safety – ”

“And they believe Nezumi is not only a mere threat to the public, but a grave danger to the people of Japan. It’s too convenient that there was no one in the house, yet somehow the police were on the scene almost exactly when Nezumi showed up – Who called them? How did they know to come, and why did they go straight to the backyard?”

Shion shook his head. “The neighbors – ”

“Weren’t home either.”

Shion willed his heart to stop beating so quickly; he felt his skin thrumming with the heat of his pulse. “Where is he? Safu, where is he?”

“I don’t know. Hospitalized somewhere, it wasn’t disclosed. They gave no means of how to contact him, but I’m sure we could – ”

“Shion?”

            Shion turned, saw one of his colleagues peering around the corner of the hall, pointing behind him.

            “I’m sorry to interrupt, there’s some people here to see you and they were, um, rather insistent.”

            “What’s going on?” Safu asked quickly.

            “Who?” Shion asked, not caring, only wanting to see one person, and he knew it could not be Nezumi waiting for him in the lobby of his research facility.

            “Three agents of the National Police Agency Security Bureau,” Shion’s colleague said, after a moment of hesitation, and Shion stared at him, then spoke to Safu.

            “I have to go, I’ll call you. The NPA is here.”

            “Keep me updated,” Safu said, and then there was a click on the line, and Shion pocketed his phone to walk towards his colleague.

            “Take me to them,” he said, hoping that it was not obvious, how violently his heartbeat shook him.

*

Nezumi was breathing through an air mask connected to a tube connected to an oxygen tank.

            The moment he realized there was an air mask over his face, he ripped it off and immediately started gasping, and then coughing, and then there were doctors in his room shoving it right back on.

            This process occurred three times until an NPA agent arrived and informed Nezumi that if he wanted to die, he only needed to say it, and the agent would gladly put a bullet between his eyes.

            Nezumi stopped tearing the mask off his face after that.

             He was not entirely certain if he was in a cell or a hospital room. It looked to be a combination of both, or perhaps it was just a cell with hospital equipment in it, like the heart monitor Nezumi was hooked up to and the oxygen tank and the cot he laid in and the flimsy gown he was wearing.

            The room was small like a cell, however, fully cement and windowless. There were no decorations or items other than the medical equipment and a toilet in the corner. And the door buzzed every time anyone entered or exited it, which made Nezumi assume it was locked with a keypad.

            This, he thought, was rather inconvenient. If he had some sort of medical emergency, no one could rush in. They’d need to type in a code first. Clearly, Nezumi’s safety was only second priority to his captivity.

            Nezumi was exhausted and aware that he’d been asleep for some time, though he couldn’t say how long that was. He kept falling asleep again without his own permission, and tried to stay awake to at least figure out what time it was – what day it was, even.

            The NPA agent who had so kindly offered to shoot in him the face had come in when Nezumi first felt fully conscious and informed Nezumi that he was under arrest and would do best to cooperate and not start any fires, to which Nezumi had removed his mask an inch to free his lips and replied he would was not very good at cooperating, though he might be more conducive to the idea if she said please.

            The agent was a broad-shouldered woman with cropped hair and consistently narrowed eyes. She wore what looked like a grey hazmat suit that Nezumi assumed was fireproof, though Nezumi doubted it would hold up to a FireMaster’s fire.

            She had crossed her arms at Nezumi’s reply, and the movement made her suit crinkle. “You woke up once before, you know.”

            Nezumi had not known this, nor had he really cared until the NPA agent, with a smile like a sneer, informed him that when he’d woken the day before only a few hours after the fire, half-conscious, he’d made a request, and it had been granted.

            “What are you talking about?” Nezumi demanded, and then he was coughing and had to let his mask fall back over his lips, and during that time, the agent had left again.

            Nezumi still did not know, however many hours or days later it was currently, what the hell the agent had been talking about. For all he knew, she was lying. He had nothing to request, nothing that he wanted but to be out of this room, and clearly, such a request had not been granted.

            He was in the process of convincing himself that the woman was full of bullshit when he heard a voice outside his door – a shouting, to be more precise, and he recognized it instantly.

            “ – absolutely unbelievable, I am a free subject of this country, and there are no reasonable grounds by which you can – ”

            Nezumi attempted to sit up, the movement jarring something inside of him that had his chest aching, though he couldn’t be sure why.

            He didn’t know the extent of his injuries. His lungs, he assumed, were in some kind of peril. His throat was raw, and consuming the smoothies supplied to him by grey fireproof-suited doctors was torture, though he knew the alternative was to be fed by a tube, which Nezumi refused.

            “It is only under this condition that we can allow you in that room, surely you understand.”

            “He is not a danger, and neither am I, and I refuse to understand any of this,” Shion snapped stubbornly, and Nezumi couldn’t help but smile behind his mask, though his smile fell away hardly a second later.

            Why was Shion there? What the hell was the man doing here – where ever Nezumi was, that is?

            There was more arguing outside the door that was too muffled for Nezumi to make out, and then there was the familiar buzzing before the door opened and Shion walked in.

            The door closed behind him with another buzz. Shion wore the same fireproof suit as the NPA agent and the doctors, but unlike them, his hands were handcuffed in front of him.

            Nezumi lifted his hand, moved his mask an inch from his lips. He didn’t know what he looked like, in his little hospital cot, but he hoped it wasn’t too pathetic.

            “Nice suit,” he commented, as Shion nearly ran to his side.

            The man’s hands were over Nezumi’s bangs, scattering it back with clumsy fingers from both his handcuffed hands.

            “They made me wear it. Probably wary of another hostage situation,” Shion murmured.

            There was the crease between his eyebrows. Nezumi’s chest hurt more than the constant ache that had plagued him since waking, though he refused to ask the doctors for more meds.

            “Why the hell are you here?” Nezumi asked, and he wanted to sound angry, but he only sounded weak, his voice scratchy and more of a breath than a sound.

            At this, Shion tilted his head, his hands stilling over Nezumi’s cheek where they’d been fluttering randomly.

            “They said you asked for me.”

            Nezumi felt his own eyes narrow. “Why would I do that?”

            “The agent leading your investigation, that woman, she told me. You said my name the first time you woke up,” Shion said, and Nezumi stared at him.

            He did not know if this was true. It was possible, but he preferred to believe the agent was lying, and he preferred Shion to believe that as well.

            “She’s lying,” he said.

            Shion just looked at him, then said, “Okay, Nezumi,” in a way that made it quite obvious he did not believe Nezumi in the slightest.

            Nezumi wanted to snap at him, but didn’t have the energy. He was tired again, and he’d only just woken minutes before.

            “What day is it?” he asked. “What time?”

            “It’s Saturday morning, maybe eight o’ clock, I don’t know, I don’t have my watch. The twentieth of April. You’ve only been here a day and a half. The NPA collected me at my office yesterday, it took a day to get here by train. You’re in an NPA facility in some small farm town, I wasn’t really paying attention to the name,” Shion said, shaking his head.

            It was clear he had been worried. Was still worried, the way he looked at Nezumi in a lingering, heavy way.

            Nezumi again wondered what he looked like.

            “What’s with the handcuffs?” he asked, to take the attention from himself.

            Shion glanced down at them. “They still think I’m some kind of accomplice. I don’t really know what the handcuffs are supposed to prevent me from doing, it’s not like I could break you out. You clearly can’t even breathe without the oxygen tank, you’re not in any place to be escaping right now.”

            Shion said it like a warning. Like a request. _Do not try to escape, Nezumi._

            Nezumi grit his teeth. He hated the goddamn oxygen tank and worse, the oxygen mask attached to it.

            “What are my injuries?”

            Shion shook his head again. “I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me. All they told me was that you asked for me, and they brought me here. That’s all I know.”

            Nezumi wanted to rip off his mask so he could yell at the idiot. “Why do you think they wanted you here? You’re leverage, Shion, you should leave right now. If they let you, that is, I doubt they’ll take the cuffs off you even once you’re out of here.”

            It was too much to say, and Nezumi was coughing, and Shion was lifting his hands, guiding Nezumi’s oxygen mask back securely over his lips.

            “It’s all right. Don’t speak anymore,” he said, not seeming at all concerned with Nezumi’s warning, and Nezumi realized Shion already knew this.

            He knew he was just a bargaining chip for the NPA. He knew he was leverage. And the idiot had come anyway.

            Nezumi wanted to hit him for being so stupid, but the heaviness of exhaustion was starting to press too hard against his chest.

            He struggled to keep his eyes open, felt Shion’s hands in his hair again, listened to the clink of his handcuffs that seemed to be coming from far, far away.

            “Everything will be fine, Nezumi. I’m so happy to see you. I’m so happy you’re alive.”

            Nezumi thought Shion’s eyes were bright, shining, but he wasn’t sure, and then his own eyes were closing, and there was nothing he could do about it, and he thought he felt a slightly damp, warm pressure against his forehead, but he couldn’t be sure.

            Maybe he had just imagined the presence of Shion’s lips, lingering at his hairline. Maybe he had already fallen asleep, and it was only a dream.

*

Safu, who had arrived at the NPA facility only an hour before, was let out of Nezumi’s room after her three knocks from the inside.        

            She, unlike Shion, was not handcuffed, but they’d made her wear the suit. It crackled as she walked over to sit beside Shion on the bench. The NPA agents had not allowed both of them to see Nezumi together, and so Shion would have to wait for Nezumi to wake again before getting his second visit.

            “How is he?” Shion asked, even though he’d only just spoken to Nezumi a few hours before.

            He knew, quite well, the answer to his own question.

            Safu’s eyes drifted down to Shion’s handcuffs before lifting up to his face. “He asked me if they were okay.”

            “Who?”

            “The people in the house that was on fire. He told me he heard a baby crying.”

            Shion wanted to hurt someone. He didn’t know who. He didn’t care. He wanted someone to hurt, for what was being done to Nezumi, for what Nezumi had to go through, not just now, but his entire life, since he was just a child.

            It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Nezumi had to feel so much pain, to carry it all on his own.

            “I told him that they were all safe, unharmed,” Safu continued, and Shion blinked at her.

            “Did he believe you?”

            Safu gave an echo of a smile. “Of course not. He yelled at me for lying to him – well, it wasn’t a yell, but I could tell that he was trying to – then he started coughing. I think he figured out that it was the NPA’s fire and was testing me.”

            “Did you tell him they’re trying to frame the fire on him?” Shion asked.

            Safu shook her head. “Didn’t get a chance to, he passed out shortly after coughing. It may be best. He’s very weak, perhaps we should wait a bit before informing him of the extent to which the national security bureau is trying to turn the country against him.”

            “What do we do, Safu? Even when he’s gets better, they won’t let him escape again.”

            Safu glanced again at Shion’s handcuffs. “No, they won’t,” she said quietly.

            She, too, Shion knew, had figured out that Shion was only there as a means to keep Nezumi docile.

            The handcuffs made it clear that it was Shion who would suffer the consequences of Nezumi’s actions, as clearly holding the man accountable himself would not suffice.

            None of it was legal, and Shion knew he could file a case against the actions of the NPA, but that could take years to be settled, and if the court saw Nezumi as a public menace, they may simply decide to choose against justice to keep Nezumi behind bars.

            “Why don’t we just let him get better before deciding anything,” Safu suggested gently.

            Shion agreed only because he had no other alternative.

*

Nezumi woke feeling warm, the warmth concentrated over his left side and in strips across his body.

            He glanced down, confused, to see Shion lying on his little cot beside him, asleep on his side, his arm slung across Nezumi’s waist and his leg over Nezumi’s thighs and his lips against Nezumi’s shoulder.

            Nezumi considered what he saw for a minute, rationalized that he was still asleep, that this was a dream, a little more PG than his usual dreams involving Shion sharing his bed, but he didn’t mind it all the same.

            He raised his hand up, weaved it through Shion’s hair, and at his touch, Shion shuffled against him in slow shifts of movement before he was looking up, blinking at Nezumi.

            “Oh, you’re awake,” Shion said, and Nezumi raised his eyebrows.

            He did not inform Shion that he was not awake at all, that he was dreaming, actually, as there seemed to be no reason to. This Shion was just a figment of Nezumi’s imagination anyway, a curtesy of his subconscious. This Shion was allowed to be wrong.

            Nezumi was wearing his oxygen mask, which was a rather annoying decision of his subconscious. He reached up with the hand that had been in Shion’s hair, pulled it from his lips, watched Shion frown.

            “You shouldn’t do that,” Shion said, and Nezumi, indeed, true to when he was awake, felt like he was trying to inhale cement the moment he’d dropped the mask below his chin.

            He didn’t care. It was a dream, he couldn’t be oxygen deprived in a dream, he didn’t need oxygen at all in a dream.

            He reached down. Was gasping and didn’t care. His chest was constricting and he didn’t care. He was touching Shion’s lips, and that was what he cared about, he was tilting Shion’s face up, and that was what he cared about, he was leaning down, and that was what he cared about – he was kissing Shion, lips against Shion’s, wanting more from Shion because this was a dream and in Nezumi’s dreams he often received more from Shion, and Shion was kissing him back, hands on Nezumi’s face, in Nezumi’s hair, and Nezumi couldn’t breathe at all but why did that have to matter?

            It didn’t, everything hurt but it didn’t matter, there was no reason for Shion to be pulling back and pushing Nezumi away at the same time, there was no reason for Nezumi to be coughing, there was no reason for Shion to be putting the oxygen mask back over Nezumi’s lips, there was no reason for Nezumi’s eyes to be watering, there was no reason for Nezumi’s chest to feel like it was breaking, there was no reason for Shion to be telling him to breathe slowly, that everything would be okay, that he just had to breathe.

            Nezumi knew everything would be okay, because it was a dream, and that was the rule of dreams.

            They were not like nightmares. Nothing was supposed to go wrong in dreams. Nothing was supposed to hurt.

*

When Nezumi woke again, Shion warned him without giving the man a chance to act otherwise.

            “Don’t take off your mask again.”

            Nezumi blinked at him in a bleary way. He reached up, lifted his mask, but only an inch so that he could speak. “Why are you lying in my cot?”

            “I asked the NPA agent. She said I could.”

            “Why would she say that?”

            Shion shrugged. “Strengthens my value as leverage, probably. The closer we are, the more you care about me, and the more you care about me, the more you’ll listen to them so they don’t do anything to me.”

            Shion smiled when Nezumi narrowed his eyes. He knew that his words would bother Nezumi, a man who didn’t like to be called out for caring for people, as if there was something weak in that.

            Maybe he had a point, but being weak didn’t bother Shion nearly as much as not being with Nezumi did.

            “I’m flattered that you risked your life to kiss me, but you probably shouldn’t do that again. The faster you’re healed, the faster we can think of a way to get you out of here. Right?” Shion asked, and Nezumi only narrowed his eyes more.

            “I thought I was asleep,” he muttered, somewhat grumpily.

            Shion smiled wider. “Does that mean you often dream of me?”

            “Do you think I can control the nonsense my subconscious churns up?”

            Shion laughed. “You know, just because we can’t kiss on the lips doesn’t mean we can’t do anything,” he offered, and at this, Nezumi stared at Shion like he was insane.

            Shion was used to receiving such looks from Nezumi. He didn’t mind at all, that the man thought he was crazy.

            Maybe he was. He often felt like it, when he was around Nezumi.

            He scooched up on the cot, careful not to disturb the tube from Nezumi’s oxygen mask, and leaned closer to Nezumi, pressed his lips to Nezumi’s neck, had always wondered what the skin where the dark locks of his hair so often cut across might feel like, and it was warm and soft. He kissed downward, a trail of kisses, wanting to feel every inch of Nezumi’s skin against his lips and knowing it would take some time, some precision, he couldn’t kiss randomly but had to use some method, some way of mapping Nezumi’s skin so he could be sure there was no bit of Nezumi that he missed.

            When he reached Nezumi’s collarbone, having to move the fabric of Nezumi’s flimsy gown, he felt Nezumi’s fingers weave through his hair, and then there was Nezumi’s voice.

            “Come back.”

            Shion lifted his head, looked up at Nezumi, who lifted his oxygen mask farther from his lips, clearing them.

            He watched Shion as if in a silent challenge, a dare, and Shion accepted it, leaned up, kissed Nezumi’s lips without opening his own, only wanting the contact, only wanting the touch.

            He moved away quicker than he preferred to, guided the oxygen mask back over Nezumi’s mouth, watched the man breathe.

            He reached up, tucked a few strands of Nezumi’s hair behind his ear.

            “You shouldn’t hold your breath for too long.”

            Nezumi didn’t say anything. Just watched Shion with heavy-lidded eyes, and Shion knew he was tired, Shion knew he was exhausted, Shion knew he was taxing his body just to stay awake.

            It was not like Nezumi, who was not one to put his life at risk without good cause, and Shion wondered if this was worth it.

            If a few moments of consciousness, if a few seconds of a kiss, could possibly be worth whatever pain he knew Nezumi was in.

            It made no sense at all, but Shion realized he did not care in any way to rationalize it.

*

Even when Nezumi could breathe without the oxygen mask for long periods of time, he pretended he could not.

            He lied even to Shion, whom he trusted – the realization of this complete trust not as surprising as he’d expected – but he did not know if his little cell was bugged or not.

            He had been in his cell for a full month. Shion slept beside him each night, left during most days to do what, Nezumi was not entirely sure, and Shion did not fill him in. Shion was taking a break from his job, he’d told Nezumi, who hadn’t argued because he was attempting to save his energy.

            Nezumi could feel himself becoming stronger. In his cell, he was forced to rest, not having many other options or space to do much else. Shion brought him books, both what Nezumi requested as well as Shion’s own choices, like the book of Pablo Neruda’s poetry that Nezumi spent the entire day memorizing until he knew every single line by heart despite never having heard of the author before.

            Shion also brought him books by Dr. Seuss, the Harry Potter series, textbooks on principles of engineering, history books on fourteenth century France, an entire volume on space and another on the art of meditation and another series about sparkling vampires and pedophiliac werewolves at war over a mortal teenager.

            Nezumi read everything. Some he memorized, others he struggled to finish, but he finished them all.

            He began exercising as well, very slowly. Allowing himself ten sit-ups and five push-ups per hour. He walked around his cell every fifteen minutes. The NPA had given him a watch. They allowed him to choose his meals. On his request, they gave him clean clothes – not his own, but they were his size, and Nezumi gladly shed the hospital gown.

            He was not treated badly, but he was a prisoner. Shion brought in the newspaper for him daily, and Nezumi read about himself, the split in the country – most people thought he should be imprisoned for life, comfortably, sure, no need to be inhumane about it, but under no circumstances should he be allowed to mingle with others in the population. Nezumi was labeled a danger. A threat. A monster. An animal. Unstable after the death of his people. Reckless. Unpredictable. More weapon than human.

            Very few people, though there were some, thought Nezumi should be allowed to live as a free man. Like anyone else. There was nothing about him more dangerous than any other person in the population – anyone could buy a gun, shoot somebody, they said, anyone could become a murderer, not just the man who could control fire.

            The NPA agent who headed his case came in to see Nezumi occasionally, but not often. Around twice a week. On every visit, she asked Nezumi if there was anything he would like to know. Anything he would like to ask her.

            She did not offer any information on her own.

            He wanted to know what the hell he was doing in that room. When he would be let out. What they were doing to Shion. If they were involved with whatever Shion was up to all day that he didn’t speak about. If this woman really thought she was doing anybody any good, keeping Nezumi locked up for no reason.

            He wanted to ask her if she knew her stupid suit would not stand against his fire. If she knew that the moment he was healed, he’d light the entire room on fire and burn her alive. If she knew it was only a matter of time before she was dead and he was free again. If she knew everything she was doing was pointless.

            But he asked none of this. Gave her a smile instead and asked her only one thing, the same question each time – _No, thank you, is there anything you would like to ask me?_

            And each time, she would, just one question. It varied. How Nezumi was doing. If there was anything he needed. If the temperature in his room was all right. If he had a special request for dinner. If he needed condoms – When she asked this, Nezumi had grinned and said he’d love some, and sure enough, ten minutes after she’d left she was back with a handful and lube.

            Nezumi had presented these to Shion that night, who’d laughed so hard he’d started crying, which Nezumi had watched with some degree of fascination. He had found it amusing as well, but certainly not to this extent. The guy looked like he was having a fit.

            They were not having sex. The condoms and lube sat still on top of the heart rate monitor. They kissed occasionally, but mostly Nezumi was just content to have Shion there. To hold him. To feel him. To touch him. To leave it to his dreams to do other things with him.

            Nezumi was preserving his energy. Did not want to let Shion know how strong he was getting, how well he could breathe, how much better his chest felt, how long he could hold his breath, which he spent large portions of the day training himself to do for longer, longer, longer.

            If he started kissing Shion, he might be tempted to do more, more that might reveal just how capable Nezumi was.

            The doctors, of course, checked his airways with their stethoscopes, but Nezumi had enlisted Safu to help him on one of her visits. Had told her to lie beside him, and she had done it without question. Had moved her hair aside and lifted his oxygen mask and whispered deep into her ear that she needed to switch the stethoscopes to broken ones that would make it sound like he had wheezing or crackling or something terrible in his airways, even when he didn’t.

            He did not know how she did it, only that she had. He was not surprised. Safu was incredibly capable.

            And now a month had passed, and Nezumi was walking around the room while reading _Lolita_ when the buzz of the keypad announced Shion’s nightly arrival.

            Nezumi didn’t stop walking or look up from his book, wanting to finish his sentence, but then there was a voice, and it was not Shion’s.

            “If you could give me a moment of your time, I would appreciate it greatly, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi glanced at his page number, then closed _Lolita_ and looked up at the NPA agent, who stood beside Shion.

            He slipped his oxygen mask to his chin. “My two favorite people at the same time. Is it my birthday?”

            “She wants to ask you some questions,” Shion said, walking over to Nezumi, taking his hand, and Nezumi watched Shion carefully, uncertain Shion’s relationship with this woman, how often he spoke to her, what they had been deciding about Nezumi’s fate without Nezumi’s knowledge.

            Nezumi trusted Shion completely. But it unnerved him, how calm Shion had been the past month when Shion was not known to be calm when it came to Nezumi’s imprisonment.

            Shion guided Nezumi to his little cot, sat on the edge of it, and Nezumi followed suit, figuring he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

            The NPA agent stood in front of them. She had supplied her name to Nezumi the first few times she’d visited, but Nezumi didn’t see her as a person with a name.

            She was a casualty in his escape plan. Nothing else.

            “I was hoping you might tell me what happened to the rest of the FireMasters, Nezumi,” the agent said.

            Shion squeezed Nezumi’s hand. Nezumi let him for a moment, then slid his fingers free.

            “They died,” he offered simply, lowering his oxygen mask again.

            The agent smiled as if Nezumi had told a joke. “Yes, I am aware of that. Can you tell me how they died?”

            Nezumi blinked at her. “Smoke inhalation.”

            The bodies of every single FireMaster had been burned to ash. Nezumi had done it himself once he’d realized he was the last one left.

            It was the tradition of his village. To burn the deceased – cremation.

            Nezumi hadn’t been able to give each person a separate ceremony. He’d known people would come, be attracted by the fire he’d only just finished absorbing.

            So he’d let it all back out of him. At six years old, he had cremated his entire village. Everyone was ash by the time the police showed up, so there had never been autopsies, it had always been a mystery.

            The NPA agent appeared surprised by Nezumi’s answer.

            “Smoke?”

            “It’s pretty dangerous,” Nezumi added, pointing at his dangling oxygen mask and giving the woman a smile. He was aware of Shion looking at him. He wanted to look back. He wanted to know if Shion had known this woman would ask him these things. He wanted to know why Shion was fine with it.

            “Are you lying?” the agent asked.

            Nezumi leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees. “Why would I lie to you? You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

            “Nezumi, Shion has spent the last month making a case for your innocuousness to the NPA. He has convinced several people, including myself, to give you a chance. I know we acted rashly, and maybe without the boundaries of justice. But you are reckless and unpredictable with your ability to eliminate fire, and we have a country to defend. You gave us no reason to trust you and every reason to lock you up.”

            Nezumi watched her for a moment, then glanced at Shion. “Is this when I thank you?”

            Shion frowned. “Nezumi. Would it hurt you to cooperate? They’re giving you a chance. They want to hear your side. Try to just answer her questions. For me, please take this seriously.”

            Nezumi looked at him another moment, then glanced back at the agent. “No, I’m not lying. They suffocated in their sleep.”

            “From a fire,” the agent asked. She sounded skeptical. Nezumi had the urge to hit her.

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “Could you explain to me how a village of FireMasters could die from a fire, Nezumi?”

            Nezumi tucked his bangs behind his ears. He could lie, but he didn’t really see a point to.

            And he wanted Shion to know the truth as well.

            “They were sleeping. They inhaled the smoke. They died. We didn’t have fire alarms, you see.”

            “Then how did you survive?”

            “I was awake,” Nezumi said.

            “Is this – Does this really have anything to do with Nezumi’s imprisonment?” Shion cut in, and Nezumi realized Shion hadn’t known what this woman would ask him.

            “Nobody knows anything about the FireMasters. People fear what they don’t know. One of the biggest mysteries was the massacre of the entire population, and if Nezumi can help us with the groundwork of this mystery, I’m sure people would be more willing to trust him.”

            “I doubt it,” Nezumi cut in.

            He didn’t care what this woman was trying to do. He didn’t care about getting the NPA on his side. He didn’t need to prove himself to anybody, he didn’t need anyone letting him out of jail. He would get himself out on his own. He didn’t care if he was trusted or not, considered a threat or not. People’s opinions didn’t matter.

            Nezumi was not about to rely on anyone but himself.

            “Excuse me?” the agent asked.

            “You want the whole story? This is it. FireMaster is a bullshit term. We’re not masters of fire, no one is a master of fire, we can just manipulate it if we learn a healthy respect for it. Kids aren’t born with that respect, with the ability to control their emotions. They have a lot of accidents, even when they’re asleep. A baby can have a nightmare, and an entire house can catch fire. At nights, there are two FireMasters trusted to stay awake. Watch the kids when everyone else is asleep. Eliminate any accidental fires. The night of the massacre, there was an accidental fire. A big one. It wasn’t eliminated. It spread – that’s the thing about a FireMaster’s fire, it spreads very quickly if it’s not being controlled – and then everyone was dead.”

            “And you started the accidental fire,” the agent said.

            Nezumi took her in. Wondered if she had a family. If she had ever lost anyone in her family. If she knew at all what it was like, to watch the last breath leave a person, to hold a hand filled with life one second and nothing the next.

            He wondered if she knew anything about the reality Nezumi lived every single day, and strongly doubted it.

            “No,” Nezumi said. “My baby sister did.”

            “Nezumi…” Shion said quietly, in a way that was easy to ignore.

            Nezumi didn’t look away from the agent. Wasn’t finished.

            “My parents were on night watch. But they were exhausted. My sister had been crying the entire day. No one knew why. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I was the most talented FireMaster in the village. Better than the elders, and I was just a boy. I could control fire in a way no one ever had been able to, and I was praised for this, and it went to my head, and it went to my parents’ heads, and I told them I would take the night watch, that I was fully capable, and they believed me, and they fell asleep, and my sister conjured a fire that spread across the entire village, and I couldn’t get rid of it on my own but I was too proud to wake my parents and ask for help, I was too arrogant to need anyone, I was conceited and vain and my own pride was more important to me than the lives of my entire village, so I let them suffocate while I tried to contain all of that fire within me on my own. But I was only six years old, and I couldn’t do it, and when I finally gave in and shook my mother awake she was half-gone already and her lungs were filled with smoke and there was nothing she could do but die while I watched her.”

            Nezumi was out of breath. He took the oxygen mask from where it’d fallen around his neck and pressed over his mouth, breathed deeply.

_Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale._

            “You were breathing the same smoke as everyone else. Why didn’t you die as well?”

            _Inhale. Exhale._

“I really think we should continue this later,” Shion said, his voice hard.

            _Inhale._

            “Nezumi.”

            _Exhale._

            “Nezumi, it’s all right. We can be done now. I won’t let her ask you anything more.”

            Nezumi closed his eyes. He didn’t want to continue this later. He wanted it to be over, that was all he’d ever wanted.

            He opened his eyes, tore his mask back off, stared at the agent. “I didn’t die because I held my breath, and when I needed to breathe I fished out one of the oxygen masks we kept for emergencies. I should have put one over everyone’s face. We all had them. I wasn’t thinking. I panicked and wasn’t thinking and I killed everyone and then I ran because I was scared. What’s your next goddamn question?”

            The agent looked Nezumi solidly for a moment. He shoved the mask back over his mouth. He breathed deeply. His eyes were completely dry.

            He felt absolutely nothing but loathing for this woman, for the entire NPA, for Shion, for everyone who thought Nezumi could answer a handful of questions and prove himself worthy of freedom when he didn’t need to prove himself to anyone, he couldn’t prove himself to anyone, he didn’t deserve freedom but he would take it anyway because he had absolutely nothing else in his life.

            “I think that’s enough for now. Thank you for your answers, Nezumi. I do appreciate it,” the agent said, and then she was walking away, and Nezumi wanted Shion to leave with her because he didn’t want Shion there.

            But Shion didn’t move from beside him, and then there was the buzz of the keypad, and Nezumi knew the NPA agent was gone.

            “If I had known she would make you – I didn’t – She only said – I would never have let – Nezumi, Nezumi, are you all right?”

            Nezumi lowered his mask. Looked at Shion solidly. “Get out.”

            Shion stared back. “No.”

            _Inhale. Exhale._

            “Get the hell out, Shion.”

            “I’m not going anywhere.”

            “I don’t want you here!”

            “I’m not going anywhere, Nezumi,” Shion said again, loudly, always so goddamn stubborn, and Nezumi’s eyes were burning, and he pressed his palms hard against them, but it wasn’t just his eyes, it was everywhere, fire under every inch of his skin and he needed to calm down but he was filled hatred, hatred that this had been done to him, that he’d finally gotten everything out and nothing felt better, and it was supposed to, Nezumi thought it was supposed to be over by now.

            There were Shion’s arms around him, then, and Nezumi tried to push him off, was going to burn Shion if he didn’t get off, but Shion wouldn’t move, and Nezumi didn’t have the strength, gave up and sank into him, let Shion pull him to the mattress, let Shion tug him into his chest, listened to Shion’s heartbeat and felt Shion’s hands in his hair as Nezumi shook against the man, as Nezumi clutched Shion’s shirt, as Nezumi tried to breathe and contain the fire inside of him.

*

Shion could feel that Nezumi was burning.

            His skin was almost too hot to touch, but Shion wouldn’t let go of him. Nezumi had lost everyone in his life and Shion refused to be among them.

            “Nezumi,” Shion whispered.

            Nezumi was shaking. His hands clutched Shion’s shirt, pulled it hard.

            “I’m going to burn you,” Nezumi hissed.

            “No, you’re not.”

            “Shut up, Shion.”

            “Nezumi. I trust you not to hurt me.”

            The back of Shion’s shirt jerked against his skin as Nezumi pulled it more tightly.

            “Please get away from me,” Nezumi whispered, pulling Shion closer to him at the same time.

            Shion took his fingers from where he’d been combing them through Nezumi’s hair, reached down and tilted the man’s chin up to look at him, the tips of his fingers burning with the contact of Nezumi’s skin, but Shion did not jerk away.

            “Look at me.”

            Nezumi looked up. He was breathing hard. The oxygen mask was around his neck. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth. “I’m going to kill you. Don’t make me do this, Shion. I can’t do this again.”

            Shion brushed Nezumi’s bangs out from his eyes. “I promise you, Nezumi, you’re not going to hurt me.”

            Nezumi closed his eyes. Shion reached out, wrapped his arms completely around him, pulled Nezumi as close to himself as he could, and Nezumi did not push away from him.

            His body radiated heat, like he himself was made of flames. Shion remembered clearly what Nezumi had told him about his mother, that she had dreams of the future, that she had seen Shion burning alive from Nezumi’s fire.

            Shion didn’t doubt Nezumi’s mother’s ability. But he believed more in the man he held, shaking against him; Shion believed in the will of Nezumi more than anything else in the world.

            And so he only pulled Nezumi closer the hotter Nezumi’s body became, and he closed his own eyes, waited for Nezumi’s fire to subside.

*


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, Shion didn’t leave as he usually did.

            Stayed on the small cot with Nezumi, who didn’t protest, who did the opposite of protest, keeping his arms around Shion and not letting him go even when the hour passed that Shion usually got up.

            “I’ll tell her you won’t answer any questions today. That you need a break,” Shion said, while Nezumi was tracing patterns onto the skin of Shion’s stomach with his finger.

            Nezumi groaned into Shion’s shoulder. Shion laid with his back to Nezumi’s chest, and Nezumi lifted his head, bit into the skin of Shion’s neck until he yelped.

            “Ow,” Shion protested, laughing in a startled way.

            Nezumi pressed his lips to the skin he’d bitten. “Let’s not talk about that,” he said quietly.

            “I know you need a break. I know yesterday was hard. But you were amazing, and I really think it should be easier from now on. She won’t ask you anything else about that, I’m sure. She’s just trying to help, and if you answer honestly, she’ll see what I see, and she can convince the rest of the NPA. That you’re not a danger at all,” Shion said – still talking about it, clearly, and Nezumi pressed his forehead against the back of Shion’s shoulder again.

            “Shion,” he groaned.

            “What?”

            “Shut up for once.”

            Shion was still, and then he was turning in Nezumi’s arms until he faced him.

            Nezumi looked at the movement of Shion’s white eyelashes as the man blinked.

            “I’m really proud of you, Nezumi,” Shion said, and Nezumi groaned again, half laughing because Shion could be so incredibly annoying it was ridiculous, really.

            He leaned forward, pushed his forehead into Shion’s.

            “Stop,” Nezumi complained.

            Shion pushed back gently, his nose bumping Nezumi’s.

            “You didn’t kill any of them, Nezumi,” Shion whispered, and Nezumi froze, leaned back slowly, looked at Shion whose eyes were slipping back and forth between both of Nezumi’s.

            “Don’t.”

            “Okay, I’ll stop,” Shion said quietly, nodding and reaching his arm between their bodies until two of his fingertips were on Nezumi’s lips.

            He touched them a moment, then took them away, was leaning forward, and Nezumi let Shion kiss him as carefully as if Nezumi were a cloud whose configuration he was scared of altering.

            When Shion slid back again, Nezumi moved with him, kept kissing him, was still kissing him only lightly when there was a knock on the door.

            Shion sat up slowly, but Nezumi stayed as he was on the bed, closing his eyes and wondering what it might be like, to not be in prison, to not be a fugitive, and to lie in a bed with Shion and kiss him in the early morning without any interruption at all.

            There was the sound of the keypad buzzing, and then the door opening, and then an – “Oh. I’m sorry.”

            “We’re having sex, get out,” Nezumi muttered, turning his face into his pillow.

            “Nezumi,” Shion chastised. “We’re not having sex,” he added.

            Nezumi attempted to roll his eyes, but couldn’t as the pillow was in his way.

            He freed his face, pushed himself off the mattress to sit up as well.

            He tucked his hair behind his ears, glared at the last woman he wanted to see first thing in the morning.

            “It’s noon, I only assumed you’d be up,” the agent was saying, sounding apologetic and slightly embarrassed.

            Nezumi smirked. “We’re naked from the waist down, you should probably leave.”

            “He’s lying,” Shion said, sounding slightly exasperated.

            “I’m inside of him as we speak.”

            “Will you shut up?” Shion snapped, hitting Nezumi’s shoulder as he laughed.

            The NPA agent cleared her throat. “Ah. Well. How about I return in ten minutes?”

            Nezumi glanced at Shion. “Do you think that’ll be long enough, sweetie?”

            Shion just gave him a flat look before giving his attention to the agent. “If this is about asking Nezumi more questions to convince you and the rest of the NPA that he is not a threat, I was thinking we should take a break for the day.”

            “I don’t need a break,” Nezumi cut in.

            He wanted to leave. He didn’t want to be in this cell any longer, getting interrupted by these persistent agents.

            He’d been foolish, being resistant to what Shion was trying to accomplish with the NPA the night before. He’d been vain and arrogant; he’d forgotten the detriments of those traits.

            If this woman was willing to offer him a get out of jail free card, Nezumi would do what he could to receive it.

            The agent nodded at Nezumi. “I’ll return in ten minutes.”

            When she left, Shion hit Nezumi again.

            “Ow, don’t be rude.”

            “Honestly, Nezumi, you’re like a child,” Shion said, shaking his head and getting up from the cot to stretch. “You didn’t even eat yet, don’t you want to have breakfast at least?”

            “Not hungry.”

            Shion looked at him suspiciously as Nezumi got off the bed as well and went to his toilet in the corner.

            Shion waited until Nezumi finished peeing before saying anything.

            “Why are you suddenly so cooperative?”

            Nezumi pulled his hair from his neck and shoulders, tied it up into a ponytail. “I don’t want to be here anymore, Shion. Aren’t you sick of that cot? And that buzzing keypad?”

            Shion tilted his head. “So only now, after over a month, is when you become sick of it?”

            Nezumi pushed his bangs from his forehead. “I’ve been sick of it since the first day. I’ve wanted to get the hell out of here since the first day.”

            Shion nodded, then pointed. “Oh, and don’t think I didn’t notice you’re not using your oxygen mask. How long has it been since you didn’t need it? And is there a reason you were hiding that from me?”

            Nezumi touched his face, forgot he’d taken off the oxygen mask sometime the night before. “Shit.”

            “Let me guess, it was your grand plan to wait until you were healed enough to handle fire again without having to worry about your lungs, and then you’d pull another weak-Nezumi is magically strong-Nezumi stunt like you did to escape the city jail?”

            “They don’t call you a genius for nothing,” Nezumi muttered, walking to his oxygen tank where he’d hung the mask and pulling it back over his head.

            “Don’t bother with it if you don’t need it, I know you hate it,” Shion said, shaking his head. “And don’t escape. I know you want to get out, but let’s do it so you don’t have to be a fugitive once you’re out. It would be nice, to be able to live freely with you.”

            Nezumi hovered the oxygen mask over his lips, then took it off again, hung it back over the tank.

            He couldn’t argue with Shion, because that was what he wanted as well.

            To leave this place with Shion, and to live freely alongside him.

*

Shion sat on the edge of Nezumi’s cot while Nezumi stood against it, his hip only just touching Shion’s knee.

            The agent, like the night before, stood in front of them.

            This time, Shion would not let the woman ask Nezumi anything she wanted. He had expected her to ask Nezumi questions that could reveal his character – but his past?

            It was not right, that the truth of it had been taken from Nezumi in the way that it had been, and Shion still felt his stomach tighten thinking about how he had let the NPA agent ask those questions, thinking about how he had let Nezumi answer, only out of his own curiosity, his own desire to know what he doubted Nezumi had ever spoken aloud before.

            Despite how the truth had come out, however, Shion was glad to know it.

            To know that Nezumi was not a murderer at all. That he was haunted by a mistake he had made as a child, that any child could have made. That Nezumi only called himself a murderer because the alterative was to forgive himself, and Shion didn’t think Nezumi found forgiveness easy, particularly when it was for his own mistakes.

            Shion didn’t want Nezumi to be subject to questioning today at all. He wanted only to stay in bed with the man, to hold him, to touch him. To try to press forgiveness into Nezumi’s skin with his own fingertips.

            But the NPA agent’s insistence was Shion’s own doing. He’d spent the last month convincing her and other agents of Nezumi’s right to freedom. Of his humanity over any threat that his ability might have been misconstrued as.

            Of his right for a second chance.

            “How are you, Nezumi?”

            Nezumi leaned slightly closer to Shion in a way that Shion wasn’t sure that Nezumi was conscious of.

            “Great,” Nezumi replied.

            His eyes were rimmed with red, and Nezumi kept rubbing at them. His nightmares that night had been particularly hard. Again, Shion had to resist the urge to tell the agent to leave them, to tug Nezumi back to bed, to pull Nezumi to his own chest and allow the man to have a proper sleep.

            “As we covered much of your past yesterday, I was hoping today could be spent on your future,” the agent continued.

            She spoke professionally, without any trace of pity or kindness, and in part, Shion was grateful of her for that.

            She treated Nezumi the same, despite his past. With clinical detachment.

            “Unfortunately, I forgot my crystal ball in my previous cell,” Nezumi was saying.

            The agent did not smile.

            “You have never had a job, am I correct? What would you be capable of contributing to the society around you once let out of jail?”

            “The counter argument of that is locking up everyone without a job. That seems a little authoritarian,” Nezumi said.

            Shion glanced at him. Watched Nezumi’s profile, saw no hardness there, only a clearness of expression, a mask of nothing, like the first impressions Shion had ever had of Nezumi.

            “Without employment or another means of daily structure, people become prone to boredom. Most people’s boredom cannot result in parking garages collapsing in ash and innocent civilians being injured with the falling debris,” the agent replied, just as smoothly.

            “You’re forgetting about arsonists,” Nezumi pointed out.

            “We lock up arsonists,” the agent replied easily.

            “Nezumi,” Shion cut in, knowing Nezumi had to understand how important it was that he prove his right to freedom to this agent.

            Nezumi glanced at him, offering no hint as to what he was thinking before looking back at the agent.

            “Excuse me for finding your questions prejudice. I wouldn’t guess it’s procedure to ask about every inmate’s profession before deciding whether or not they deserved freedom.”

            The agent tilted her head. “You aren’t any inmate, Nezumi. Yes, the NPA has decided it is in our best interest to employ safeguards against you that we would not normally. You have the capacity to be both human and weapon. You have proven the latter capability rather well over the past months. Shion has insisted that I attempt to see the human side. That is all I am doing here. If you find the process insulting, I apologize for that. But I did not ask you to start fires in public areas, repeatedly, without any seeming regard for the lives within them.”

            “No one got hurt in any of those fires but the parking garage,” Nezumi said, his words clipped.

            “They could have.”

            “No, they couldn’t have.”

            Shion pressed his palms into his knees. The agent glanced at him, then back at Nezumi again.

            “Shion has tried to convince me that your control over fire is impeccable. He has made the same argument you are making now, an argument that the fires you have been spreading – with the exception of the parking garage, which I will allow you to put aside for now – have been completely under your control and all people seemingly in harm’s way were absolutely safe. Can you prove that to me?”

            Shion looked at Nezumi, who reached up, rubbed absently at his eyes again before running his fingers through his hair. “I doubt it.”

            “You could start a fire,” Shion suggested quietly. “One that won’t harm anyone. You can show her how you light the air particles around – ”

            “I’m not starting a fire in a cell this small,” Nezumi said abruptly, looking at Shion with narrowed eyes.

            “We could go outside. Or to a room with a window. You said you’d allow that, for the purpose of demonstration,” Shion added, looking at the NPA agent again, whom he’d discussed this with.

            She nodded at him before looking back at Nezumi, who was talking quickly in a harsh way Shion hadn’t expected.

            “No. I’m not conjuring a fire because you need me to prove something.”

            “Nezumi, this will show them – ”

            Nezumi’s glare was so severe that Shion felt the rest of his sentence fall from his lips in only a breath, without any voice behind it. “I don’t play with fire on command. I’m not a circus monkey.”

            Shion felt hot. “That’s not what – ”

            “If you cannot prove to me that your previous incidents of conjuring fire in public settings around civilians of this country – including young children – were not fully under your control, I’m afraid there is not much I can do for you, Nezumi.”

            “Even if I promise I’ll be a doctor when I’m all grown up?” Nezumi retorted, his arms crossed.

            The agent gave a stiff smile. “Unfortunately, the future rests upon your past. Your actions have been viewed as rash and dangerous and likely to incite injury, despite the fact that most people in the presence of your fires have been unharmed. We are not friends, Nezumi, and I have no reason to trust you or your word, or Shion’s for that matter. If I do not believe your ability to conjure fire is fully under your control, which I currently have no grounds on which to believe, then I have no obligation or desire to allow you to be amongst the people of the country it is my duty to protect.”

            “Nezumi is a person of this country just as much as anyone else! He deserves the same rights,” Shion interrupted, standing up from the bed without remembering going through the actions of standing.

            “Let it go, Shion,” Nezumi sighed.

            “I’m sorry it appears that you wasted your time, Shion,” the agent said, and then just like that, after a month of convincing her to give Nezumi a chance, she was walking out.

            Shion watched her, seething, but it wasn’t her fault.

            He turned on Nezumi the moment the agent was out of the room and the door was locking with a buzz behind her.

            “What is wrong with you? Don’t give me that circus monkey crap, you know that’s not what I wanted.”

            Nezumi just looked at him in a way that would have seemed almost bored, if it weren’t for the slight narrow of his eyes.

            “My ability to conjure fire does not give anyone the right, not even you, Your Majesty, to demand it. It is not a party trick.”

            “I’m not asking you to do this because I want to watch you play with fire, Nezumi,” Shion snapped. “I’m asking you to do this because this will get you out of here, this will get your freedom. Proving your absolute control over your fires, proving that no one is in danger around you and never was – that’s what the NPA needs to see to let you out.”

            “Guess I’m stuck here,” Nezumi replied, shrugging in a stiff way.

            Shion felt his hands curl into fists. “Didn’t you say ten minutes ago that you were sick of this cell?” he snapped.

            “Changed my mind, feels like home sweet home to me now,” Nezumi said, that mask of his indifference Shion hated propped over his expression.     

            It made Shion want to hit him, the way Nezumi could play with his own life like this. Like he didn’t deserve better than this, better than this little cell, better than imprisonment.

            “Well I’m sick of it,” Shion said, his voice hard, trying not to shout.

            Nezumi raised his eyebrows. “Is anyone stopping you from leaving?” he asked, as if he was genuinely curious, as if he had no idea why Shion was still standing in front of him, why Shion returned to this cell to sleep every night, as if he had no idea of anything Shion felt.

            Shion knew this tone was a lie just as much as Nezumi’s indifferent expression. Shion was positive Nezumi knew how he felt – Nezumi had to know. He was just trying to piss Shion off for some stupid game of his own, but it was working; Shion felt pissed off.

            What Shion wanted, more than anything he’d ever wanted in his entire life, more than he’d thought it was possible to _want,_ was to have a life with Nezumi.

            They could not do that in this cell. They could not live together, be together, in this cement cage that Shion knew Nezumi hated as much – more than – he did.

            “I’m not kidding, Shion,” Nezumi was saying, and Shion focused on him, tried to stop seething, knowing he needed to be patient, he needed to be more understanding – he knew Nezumi didn’t like conjuring fire for no reason, that was obvious, but this was a good reason, this was the best reason – his freedom, Shion would make him understand that.

            “What?” Shion asked, noting that Nezumi was looking at him in a serious way.

            “You should leave. I’m the prisoner, not you.”

            Shion felt his hands unravel from their fists. “What does that mean?”

            Nezumi shrugged. “You’re clearly not leverage anymore. I haven’t seen those handcuffs on you in weeks. You’re free to go, so go. Don’t waste your life away here, don’t you have cities to save and water to clean? Go back to your apartment, go back to your job. You’ve been here long enough.”

            Shion took a step back. His stomach twisted. He rubbed his hands over the tops of his arms to warm them before squeezing, digging his fingernails into his skin.

            “You don’t have to be an asshole,” he finally said, his voice arriving later and less severe than he would have preferred.

            Nezumi reached his hand up, ran it through his bangs, held them up over his eyes so they didn’t fall back down. “I’m not being an asshole,” he said, a little slowly, a little too carefully.

            Shion squinted at him. “You want me to leave?”

            He knew Nezumi didn’t. But he wanted Nezumi to say it. To stop lying, to come out and say that he wanted Shion to stay.

            Maybe Nezumi was scared to admit that. Shion could understand that – he _did_ understand that. How important distance was to Nezumi. How it protected him, to lie.

            But Shion also deserved the truth. He deserved to be fought for. He would not stay if Nezumi demanded he leave.

            Nezumi looked away from him. Around the little cell, nothing but cement walls and hospital equipment Nezumi wasn’t even hooked up to anymore and the small cot and the toilet in the corner.

            “You have a life. You should get back to it. Leaving here every day to try to make deals that the NPA aren’t going to take, then coming back every night,” Nezumi shook his head, looked back at Shion with nothing at all in his expression. “It doesn’t make sense.”

            Shion clenched his jaw. Relaxed. Took a breath. “So you do want me to leave,” he pressed, giving Nezumi another chance.

            He knew Nezumi could do it. He knew Nezumi could be honest. He knew Nezumi was strong enough to admit to himself that he needed someone, that he wanted someone, that he was not better off alone – he only needed an invitation to admit it, to understand that it was safe for him not to lie any longer.

            Nezumi dropped his hand from his bangs. They fell over his eyes. “Yes. I want you to leave.”

            Shion wanted to argue. He knew Nezumi did not mean it. He knew this, he knew this. He knew Nezumi was terrified of being alone, no matter what he said. He knew Nezumi wanted him there at nights to shake him awake from his nightmares, to whisper him back to sleep.

            Shion knew all of this, but it still squeezed his chest to hear those words, it still hurt to listen to them, and Shion didn’t deserve that.

            He nodded again, stiffly. Walked past Nezumi, then away from him, to the cell door where he knocked three times and then the window slit was opening for the guard to see who it was and the keypad was buzzing and it was opening, and Shion was stepping out.

            Shion did not expect Nezumi to call him back, and Nezumi did not prove him wrong.

*

Shion had not taken the library books.

            This meant he would be back. He’d have to take the books to return them.

            Nezumi then recalled Shion’s room. The disarray, the books scattered over the floor – there had been library books among them, ones Shion must have forgotten to return, or not had time to read. It was hardly a surprise that the library let Shion get away with it. Shion could get away with anything. He was loved in that city, and he should have been.

            He did good things for the people. He needed to be back in the city, doing those things. He didn’t belong tethered in whatever random farmland Nezumi’s prison resided in, spending all of his time trying to help Nezumi when Shion’s scale of philanthropy had previously been countrywide aid.

            Nezumi could not sleep. He was walking around his cell, dragging his hand over the walls. The cot was too cold on his own, and he didn’t care to ask for another blanket. He could have started a small fire, but the cell was likely airtight. He’d suffocate in seconds once his fire ate out all of the oxygen.

            When Nezumi had walked around enough to heat up his body without getting to the point of sweating – the sweat would cool and only make the situation worse – he returned to the cot. Cocooned himself in the blanket to retain the body heat he’d generated. Willed himself to fall asleep, knowing it was likely he’d have nightmares, but he had nightmares every night, so really, he had no reason to be dreading them in the way he was, as if he was unprepared, as if he was somehow more vulnerable when he had slept alone for nearly his entire life, it should have been all he knew, it should have been what felt right.

*

Shion couldn’t sleep, and called Safu without looking at the time.

            She picked up on the first ring. “What happened?”

            “Hm? What? Nothing. I mean – Something happened but – Why do you sound so panicked?” Shion asked, concerned for his friend.

            He listened to Safu’s rushed exhale. “You’re not hurt?”

            “I’m – ? No.”

            “Nezumi isn’t hurt?”

            “No, he’s not hurt. Safu, what – ”

            “Dammit, Shion! Do you know what time it is? The only reason people call at half past three in the morning is if someone is hurt, or if there’s some type of emergency!” Safu snapped.

            Shion lifted himself onto his elbow, glanced at the clock on the hotel room nightstand.

            “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realize the time.”

            “Where are you and why are you calling me?”

            Shion cleared his throat, feeling guilty for waking his friend. “I’m in the hotel where you stayed the first couple nights Nezumi was here. I’m calling you because I was hoping you’d be able to visit Nezumi tomorrow.”

            “Did he ask for me?”

            Shion rubbed at his eyes. He was tired but couldn’t sleep.

            “No. I don’t want him to be lonely,” he finally said, quietly.

            “Why aren’t you spending the night in his cell?” Safu asked, after a moment.

            Shion pressed his temples. “He asked me to leave.”

            “Why would you listen to him?”

            Shion groaned. “Because – Because! He’s being difficult!”

            “That’s nothing new, Shion,” Safu said lightly.

            Shion rolled onto his back and stared up at the dark of his hotel room ceiling. “He could get out. They would let him go if he just demonstrated his mastery over fire, if he was willing to show them what I’ve seen – that he’s never put anyone at risk, never, that everyone around his fires was always completely safe. They’d let him go, Safu, if he showed them that, that he’s never even tried to hurt anyone, that he would never want to hurt anyone. It took me a month to convince them to allow him to leave his cell in order to demonstrate his fire, and now, finally, when I managed to get an agent on my side who is willing to allow Nezumi this chance, he completely refuses!”

            Shion felt winded, took a breath. It felt good, to get it out. To vent his frustrations.

            Safu was silent for a moment, and then – “He doesn’t like conjuring fire unnecessarily, you know.”

            “Yes, I do know that. But this isn’t unnecessary.”

            “Maybe, to him, it is. It has nothing to do with survival.”

            “It has to do with freedom! He’s conjured fire for his own freedom before, several times. That’s how he got out of jail. It’s how he distracted the police when they searched the apartment for him,” Shion argued.

            “I think he might be tired of it. Of being around fire. Of being defined by it. This test that you’ve set up to get his freedom, it implies that his worth as a human being and ethical code depends on his skillset with fire. And before you object,” Safu said, just as Shion opened his mouth to do just that, “I know that’s not what you intended. I know you only want to show the NPA that he never put another civilian in real danger around his intentional fires. But Nezumi does not always look at the big picture. He sees what he wants to see, and right now, that is people, including you, basing his morality and intrinsic value on his abilities to manipulate fire, a skillset that I don’t think he is even very proud of.”

            Shion felt himself deflate. Loosened his grip on the phone that he hadn’t realized he’d tightened. “Maybe you’re right. But this is the only way I could get the NPA to give him a chance at freedom. I hate that he’s locked up in there.”

            “I know,” Safu said gently.

            “I know you have class in the morning. But afterward, will you come see him tomorrow? It’s short notice for a long trip, but he thinks I’ve gone back home.”

            “And you want him to think that,” Safu concluded.

            Shion bit the inside of his cheek. Released the roll of skin. “If he wants space, I want to give it to him.”

            “Except that you know he doesn’t want space from you,” Safu said.

            Shion closed his eyes. “Will you come tomorrow?”

            “Of course I will, Shion.”

            Shion was grateful his friend did not accuse him of wanting Nezumi to miss him. Of wanting Nezumi to want him. No, more than that – of wanting Nezumi to _realize_ that he wanted Shion, to acknowledge it, to come to terms with it.

            “Thank you,” Shion said.

            “Can I go back to sleep now?”

            Shion smiled in his dark hotel room. “Okay. Goodnight, Safu.”

            “Goodnight, Shion.”

            The phone buzzed when Safu hung up, so Shion placed it back on its receiver, rolled back onto his side, and tried, again, to fall asleep.

*

When Nezumi’s door buzzed and opened the next night, Nezumi had no doubt that it was Shion.

            He was wrong.

            “Should I be insulted by your disappointment?” Safu asked, closing the door behind her and turning back to smile at Nezumi, who was leaning against the wall and reading to give himself a break from pacing.

            “I’m not disappointed,” Nezumi replied easily, glancing at his page number before bending to place _Lolita_ on the floor.

            He’d finished it the day before, but had decided a reread might shed more light on the denser parts of the novel.

            That, and he wasn’t entirely sure when Shion would be around again with new reading material.

            “I’m assuming Shion sent you,” Nezumi said, after Safu had walked farther into the room and sat on the edge of Nezumi’s unmade cot.

            “Of course,” she said.

            Nezumi walked over, sat beside her. “Sorry I kicked him out and sent him back to your apartment. I’m sure you were enjoying having the place to yourself.”

            He glanced at Safu, who gave him a strange look before her expression smoothed over again, though it fell a second later into suspicion.

            “Was that a test?” Safu asked, and Nezumi laughed, surprising himself by it.

            “You got me.”

            “I failed, didn’t I?”

            Nezumi nodded. “You’re usually much better at hiding your emotions, I’m disappointed in you.”

            “Shion woke me up in the middle of the night last night, and the trip here was long and exhausting on top of that. Cut me some slack,” Safu muttered, and Nezumi laughed again.

            “So is he in the hotel where you stayed at? The one ten minutes from here?”

            Safu sighed. “Did you really have to ask him to leave, Nezumi? You don’t have to be so mean all the time, it’s not a positive trait.”

            “Mean?” Nezumi scoffed, found the accusation childish and absurd. “I’m not mean.”

            “You’re not nice,” Safu said, and when she looked at Nezumi, he could tell that she was not joking at all, that she was being serious.

            He contemplated her. He’d never even considered it before, the idea of being nice as a desirable trait, as something to strive for, as an advantage.

            Safu sighed, shook her head. “I don’t think he needs you to be nice, really. Just…different. I understand why you keep everyone at a distance, but you can’t do that to Shion if that’s not what you want from him.”

            Nezumi leaned away from this woman, this girl whom he respected for her honesty, her blunt way of speaking, though now he didn’t know what to do with what she was telling him.

            “And what is it that I want from him?” he asked, aware that he was putting distance between him and Safu as he leaned away from her, aware that she had only just reminded him of his tendency to do so, feeling his brow furrow at being made aware of such things, thinking that he didn’t appreciate having these facts called to his attention like this.

            Safu smiled gently, and Nezumi felt his eyes narrow.

            “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. I highly doubt you need me to answer that for you.”

            Nezumi looked away from her, at the wall opposite him, at the door like a cut-out slab of cement at the end of it, locking him in with its buzzing keypad.

            He thought Safu overestimated him. He didn’t know what the hell he wanted from Shion.

            It had been a long time, since he’d wanted something from another person. Since he’d relied on someone to be able to offer him what he wanted. Since he’d trusted someone to give him what he wanted without needing anything in return.

            But maybe Shion did need something in return. Something Nezumi didn’t have to give because Nezumi didn’t have anything to give but fire.

            “I’m going to kill him,” Nezumi said, to the wall. “Did he tell you?”

            “He did. Your mother could see the future.”

            Nezumi nodded. He didn’t mind that Shion had told Safu this. He had a strange feeling that even if Shion hadn’t told her, she would just know.

            She seemed like a woman who just _knew,_ and that, Nezumi realized, was another reason he liked her. He didn’t feel so full of secrets around her. He didn’t feel like he had to hide anything about himself because she surely knew every thought in his head, and here she was anyway, sitting on the side of his cot in his prison cell in the middle of some Japanese farmtown on the opposite side of the country.

            “Can you tell me what she said, Nezumi? The exact words as you remember?” Safu asked gently.  

            Nezumi did not hesitate. He did not even have to think about it. He took a breath. _“I saw a man with red eyes, white hair, and a scar like a snake. He was burning alive. It was you, my bright star, it was your fire. You must –”_

“You must…” Safu repeated slowly.

            “She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence.”

            “What if – Nezumi, what if she’d wanted to say, _You must save him_?”

            Nezumi turned, stared at her. He had never, not for a moment, considered this. “That’s not what she meant,” he said, abruptly, and Safu blinked.

            “Do you know that?” she asked, not a challenge, but a curiosity.

            As if Nezumi could know what his mother had wanted to say when her lungs had been full of smoke and her hand had been slipping from his, slick with sweat and the softness of death.

            He shook his head. Felt the need to argue with Safu without knowing why. “If I was going to save him, she would have seen it, she would have said, _You will_ , not _You must._ ”

            “But maybe she only saw him burning. Maybe her vision cut off before she could see anything else, but she knew you would – ”

            “You don’t know her!” Nezumi snapped, his voice slipping out louder than he’d intended, a shout he hadn’t meant ringing around the cement walls of the cell, but Safu did not flinch, did not even soften her determined gaze.

            “No. I didn’t. But I know you, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi ignored the squeeze of his chest. “If you know me so well, then why the hell is it my fire that’s burning him?”

            Safu’s gaze softened. “Because I think you are a man who makes mistakes, Nezumi,” she said softly, and Nezumi flinched back, but she had reached out and her hand was over his wrist, squeezing it gently. “But you are also a man who will return to fix the mistakes he’s made.”

            “And what if they can’t be fixed? What if it’s too late?” Nezumi demanded, and he was not angry, he was not rhetorical – he wanted an answer. He wanted Safu, who knew everything, who was honest, who was blunt, to tell him what he had to do to fix what he had ruined, to bring back what he had ended.

            “Then you grieve and you honor and you remember, and you still acknowledge your ability to change, and your right for happiness, and the truth that there are still people around you who love and believe in you, whatever you may think about yourself,” Safu said, straightforward in the way Nezumi imagined she gave her lectures – like they were fact, like they were truth, like there was no argument at all, and so for the life of him, Nezumi could not think of one.

            Nezumi looked down at Safu’s hand, still on his wrist. The small pressure of her squeeze. The amazingness of this brief human contact, and he couldn’t remember how he’d gone twenty years without it.

            “And you forgive yourself, Nezumi,” Safu added, softer now, and Nezumi shook his head at her hand over his wrist, wanted to move his arm from her but more than that wanted her touch, wanted the warmth of another human.

            “I can’t,” he managed.

            “I don’t think you’ve tried,” Safu said quietly, and Nezumi didn’t reply because of course she was right.

            He had never tried to forgive himself for the death of his village. Why should he? Why would he deserve that? What right did he have for forgiveness?

            Neither of them spoke for a time period Nezumi couldn’t name, perhaps several minutes, perhaps only a handful of seconds, but then Safu was squeezing Nezumi’s wrist again before finally removing her hand.

            “I can stay with you the night, if you’d like, Nezumi. But I don’t think it’s me you want here. Let me call him for you.”

            Nezumi shook his head as Safu slipped off the edge of the bed. “No.”

            “Nezumi – ”

            “You can call him, but tell him to come tomorrow morning. And tell him to bring that NPA agent,” Nezumi said, looking at Safu until she finally nodded.

            Nezumi did not want Shion to spend another night in this cell.

            Nezumi didn’t want to spend another night here either, but he would – one last night – and then he’d get out of here.

            Maybe he couldn’t try forgiveness. But he could try Safu’s other suggestions – at the very least, he could try for his own happiness, a concept he hadn’t given much thought in the past, a concept that hadn’t seemed relevant, that hadn’t seemed necessary.

            Now, Nezumi thought, he wanted it, at least a little piece of it, at least a moment, just to know what it might be like.

*

They stood several yards from the facility, on the bare land that surrounded it, an expanse of grass that was just mildly overgrown, scattered with weeds and dandelions sprouting in clumps of tall stalks. It was a little beautiful, Shion thought, used to the city, the lack of such large areas of uninterrupted land as that which stretched out from the back of the facility where Nezumi had been prisoner for five weeks.

            There was a firetruck beside the back wall of the facility, with a fireman in the passenger seat, the door open to showcase him looking out from the truck. The NPA agent, standing near Shion, had a fire extinguisher by her side.

            These seemed to be the only precautions that had been taken. There were no guards, no other agents around. Just the fireman a small distance away, the NPA agent, Shion, and Nezumi, the latter of whom stood silently looking up at the sky, the oxygen mask hanging around his neck, unconnected from the tank but present on Shion’s request, just in case.

            Just in case.

            Shion knew this was the first time Nezumi had been outside in over a month. The first time he was allowed to breathe fresh air in a month. Shion stood a few feet back from Nezumi, watching the man stand and breathe.

            “Perhaps we should get started,” the agent said, after allowing Nezumi a minute.

            Nezumi did not look at her. “What do you want me to do?” His hair was down over his shoulders, and Shion watched the low breeze filter through it. “Spread a fire in a geometric shape? Letters? An animal?”

            “To demonstrate the absolute control Shion tells me you have, I think you understand I will need you to show me a little more than that.”

            At this, Nezumi glanced over his shoulder, back at the NPA agent beside Shion.

            “What do you want?”

            Shion already knew what the agent would say. He had discussed this with her previously – what Nezumi would have to do to prove to her that no one had ever been in danger around Nezumi’s fires, that he could give the illusion of harm, of recklessness, of fire on skin without it ever really touching.

            “You will have to replicate the dangerous situations you created. Specifically, the most concerning to the NPA, when you lit the hands of several officers on fire to force their guns down during your prison escape.”

            Nezumi’s bangs were swept by the breeze over his eyes. “You want me to light your hand on fire?”

            “Of course not. I don’t trust you, Nezumi, that is why we are here. And if I did trust your control, I would not trust you to use it on me, who you probably view as your imprisoner. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, you will have to demonstrate with Shion.”

            Nezumi rose his hand, pushed his bangs from his forehead. “You’re kidding.”

            Shion stepped forward. “It’s all right, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi looked at him swiftly. “Last time I lit you on fire, you were a bit put out, if I remember correctly.”

            Shion tried to give him a reassuring smile. “You didn’t light me on fire, you lit the air around me on fire.”

            “I’m not doing that again. I did it because I had to.”

            “To get out of prison. Just like you have to do it now. It will be fine, Nezumi.”

            “Are you out of your mind?” Nezumi snapped, sounding thoroughly annoyed, stepping back from them, and Shion stepped forward, then again, then again until he was in front of Nezumi, could reach out and touch him, but he didn’t.

            He only looked at Nezumi, completely seriously, and shook his head. “This is not what your mother saw. You have complete control over your fires, and you know that, and I know that. Show the NPA so that you can leave this place, and we can go back home.”

            Nezumi stared back, then looked away from Shion over his shoulder to the agent. “You better pay attention,” he said shortly, and then he was looking back at Shion, taking a deep breath, exhaling, and as he did so, Shion could see his expression relax, his shoulders lower, his entire body calm.

            Shion nodded, took a step back from Nezumi so that when Nezumi conjured a fire around him, the smoke of it wouldn’t make the man start coughing.

            “Lift your hand,” Nezumi instructed, and Shion did as he was told, lifted his hand with his palm towards Nezumi and his fingers fanned, and then Nezumi was lifting his own hand, mirroring Shion, pressing his palm to Shion’s and his fingers along his.

            Shion stared at their hands, but then his attention was caught by a ring of fire around Nezumi’s wrist, like a bracelet that moved, down his wrist and then opening so that it encircled Shion’s wrist as well, and it lifted, a loop around both their hands, a circle of fire that forced their palms to press even closer together.

            If Shion moved his hand from Nezumi’s, he would be burned.

            He watched the ring around their hands as it rose from their wrists, the bottoms of their hands, higher and wider to allow for the span of their fanned thumbs and pinkies, then slimming once those fingers had been skirted and continuing to reconfigure until it was not around their hands at all, but only the tips of their tallest fingers, their middle fingers.

            The flame was a small ring now, slipping down their middle fingers, and even though Shion’s fingers were fanned out, he was amazed that even as the ring fell solidly onto the end of his finger where it connected to his palm, he could not feel any sort of burn on the sides of his forefinger or ring finger despite the frighteningly close proximity.

            The ring shone for a moment, then vanished, and not a second later there was fire around Shion’s entire hand and Nezumi’s as well, still pressed to his, but Shion could not feel any burn, could not feel pain, only warmth, only the solidity of Nezumi’s skin on his own and the crackling energy of the flames around them.

            “Are you all right?” Nezumi asked, and Shion looked away from the fire to see that Nezumi was not looking at it at all, but watching Shion very intently.

            Shion was not sure that he had been remembering to breathe, but it had nothing to do with fear. “You’re incredible,” he managed, and Nezumi continued to look at him in his searching, focused way.

            The fire around their hands was bright in Shion’s peripherals, and he looked back at it, watched it form a ring again, this time jumping off Nezumi’s hand completely and only around Shion’s wrist where their skin did not touch, breaking from a ring and traveling like a vine up Shion’s forearm, looping over his outstretched elbow, up his arm to his shoulder, and Shion turned his head to watch it until Nezumi’s voice called his attention back.

            Nezumi’s eyes were bright with his own fire, the silver hardly noticeable at all under the reflection of lively orange and red. “In my village, this was a bonding ritual between two FireMasters. Your fire would have woven around my arm up to my shoulder, as mine is on you. While my own fire cannot harm me, it could burn your skin, and your fire, if you were a FireMaster, would not burn your arm, but it would burn mine. To perform this ritual was a symbol of eternal trust. Most often, a FireMaster would be burned in the process, and so it was not a common ritual, done very rarely. Not many FireMasters were able to control their fire like I can. But even those scars received during this ritual would be considered sacred. Proof that trust lasted beyond pain. Proof that even if a mistake was made, there would be instant forgiveness between the two FireMasters. Proof of faith between two people.”

            Shion looked from Nezumi’s face to his arm, where Shion’s own fire was absent – of course it was, Shion could not conjure fire.

            He wondered, if he could, if he would ever be willing to perform this ritual with Nezumi. To risk burning him. To chance scarring the smooth of his skin.     

            “But like I said, it was rare. Most FireMasters would not risk the consequences of this ritual. We were a people with great respect for fire, including the dangers of it, and we were cautious with it. I only saw one pair of FireMasters perform it, a few months before their deaths.”

            “Who?” Shion asked, looking back at Nezumi’s face, but he thought he knew before Nezumi said it.

            “My parents,” Nezumi replied, and then Shion felt the warmth hovering over his skin receding, and he looked down at his arm to watch the rope of fire unraveling from his limb, disappearing from his shoulder, then his elbow, then his forearm, then his wrist, and then pouring back into Nezumi’s wrist.

            When it was gone completely, Nezumi took his hand from Shion’s, whose own hand dropped to his side.

            “That prove anything to you?” Nezumi asked, looking to the left of Shion, who turned, surprised, having completely forgotten that this was a test, that the NPA agent was even beside them, that there was anyone else in this field of long grass and open sky but himself and Nezumi and the warmth of Nezumi’s fire not quite touching his skin, not quite branding it with a whole new scar that would bond him to Nezumi forever.

            The NPA agent was looking not at Nezumi, but Shion, and more specifically, his arm, though she slowly turned her gaze to Nezumi.

            “Yes, it does. Thank you, Nezumi. I will have to escort you back to your cell now, but afterward you can trust that I will be speaking with the rest of the agents on your case. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but you can expect to leave by nightfall.”

            Shion looked at Nezumi to see the man nod, not look at all relieved, at all surprised, at all happy at the news.

            They followed the agent back into the facility, and then again to Nezumi’s cell, which Nezumi reentered without argument, though Shion lingered outside, intending to make sure the agent made good on her statement.

            “I’ll see you tonight,” he told Nezumi, who said nothing to him, was raising his arms to tie his hair up into a ponytail.       

            “Your abilities are very beautiful,” the agent said, her hand on Nezumi’s cell door to close it. “I am sorry that you have been punished for them.”

            She closed the door then, before Nezumi could reply, and Shion listened to the keypad buzz as it locked automatically.

            “Is he supposed to forgive you?” Shion demanded, angry on Nezumi’s behalf, hardly believing that this woman could just apologize like that as if it could give Nezumi back the month of his life he’d been imprisoned, the months beforehand that he’d been a fugitive on the run and in hiding.

            “I didn’t apologize to be forgiven,” the agent said, turning to Shion. “I apologized to acknowledge that a wrong has been done to Nezumi, and I understand my part in that wrong. I also do not regret my actions. I believed Nezumi to be a threat, and so I made sure he was away from the public. Now, I no longer believe that, and now, I will ensure that he is freed. Whether or not he forgives me is irrelevant, wouldn’t you agree?”

            Shion stared at this woman. He could not think of an argument, but only that he disagreed with her.

            Nezumi’s feelings were relevant. Nezumi being locked up without trial was relevant. Nezumi being forced to prove his innocuousness through his use of fire, practically against his own will, was relevant.

            But Shion had no way to argue this. No rational grounds to base it on. All he had were his own feelings, thick and hot in his chest, and so he stayed silent and followed the agent to where her team was assembled, waiting to hear the verdict on Nezumi’s test, waiting to decide how Nezumi would be allowed to live his life.

*


	11. Chapter 11

Nezumi was exhausted, and the train across the country back to Shion’s apartment would take the entire night.

            Therefore, Nezumi pretended to fall asleep not ten minutes after boarding the train and sitting beside Shion in their own compartment, leaning his cheek against Shion’s shoulder.

            He could feel the rise and fall of Shion’s shoulder with the man’s breaths. This rhythm, along with the steadiness of the train, added to Nezumi’s exhaustion. He kept his eyes closed, even when he felt Shion’s fingers flitting over his forehead, along his hairline to his ear, tucking back his bangs.

            “Thank you for letting me take you home,” Shion whispered, and Nezumi was glad he was pretending to be asleep.

            Otherwise, he might have been obliged to respond.

            Otherwise, he might have had to tell Shion that he was not the one who was supposed to be saying _Thank you._

*

Shion knew that Nezumi was not asleep.

            When Nezumi slept, he was not still. He shifted and murmured into his exhales, his hands clutched and loosened, he pushed his forehead into the pillow or Shion’s shoulder or the mattress or Shion’s chest as if attempting to bury himself away, he breathed deeply in a way that moved his chest up and down so that Shion could watch it and be comforted by its rhythm.

            Now, on the train where Shion was finally returning home with Nezumi, freed seven hours after his demonstration to the NPA agent, Nezumi was very still. His cheek was against Shion’s shoulder, and Shion could only just see his features if he moved his head a certain way, craned his neck a certain way.

            He could see the peacefulness of Nezumi’s closed eyelids, but there was also a stillness, a deliberate calmness that was not present when Nezumi was truly asleep.

            Shion didn’t not mind that Nezumi was pretending. He knew that soon, Nezumi really would fall asleep. That Shion would be able to tell from the way he would start to shift, small increments of movement, the gentle sound of shuffling cloth and skin and hair.

            And whether Nezumi was truly asleep or pretending, Shion would sit very still, the weight of Nezumi’s head on his shoulder and body against his side so incredible Shion wondered why it was sexual contact that was so valued when there was contact like this – the contact of comfort, trust, love – to be had.

*

It was Nezumi’s third night back in Shion and Safu’s apartment.

            While he was free now to leave the apartment, he kept his hood up if he went out. The public, unlike the NPA, had not decided that he was not a threat. That he was not something to be feared. That he was not a walking weapon with the capacity to murder hundreds, thousands at once.

            The public was not wrong. Even the theater would not take Nezumi, when he returned on Shion’s urging to re-audition.

            Nezumi was not sure what he would do for a job, but he had never in his life had a job. He had only done what he had to do in order to survive in secret.

            Now, he was no longer in secret. He was known – _the last surviving FireMaster_ – and wary of cameras, catching photographs of himself in the newspaper and on television that he had not realized were being taken.

            Shion assured him it would wear off. That soon, he would be allowed to live a normal life.

            Nezumi was not so sure, but he did not argue with Shion, and he did not feel as though he had any right to complain.

            He was free, and he had a bed to sleep in, and he had an apartment to live in, and until he could properly pitch in for rent, the old agreement stood that Nezumi would assist Safu in her professor duties and Shion in his work.

            More than any of that, there was Shion himself, currently sitting up to pull his boxers back over his thighs, then returning to lie against Nezumi’s back.

            Nezumi felt Shion’s fingers trace the edges of his scar on his back.

            “You feel okay?” Nezumi asked sleepily, though he’d asked it before, he’d asked it throughout.

            “Yes, Nezumi,” Shion said, laughing a little into his exasperation. “Stop asking.”

            Nezumi liked feeling the breath of Shion’s laugh against his skin. Wanted to ask again, just so he could feel it once more.

            Instead, he closed his eyes. He felt wrung out. As it was the first time they’d had sex, they had been extremely slow. Shion, unsurprisingly, had treated Nezumi like something to be studied, inspected, carefully examined, and Nezumi had let him, had not minded the way Shion touched him and looked at him as if attempting to unravel him, to unearth him.

            Nezumi, too, had taken some fascination in Shion, but more than that, there was care. He did not want to hurt the man. There was the fire beneath his skin, thrumming almost at the surface and threatening to slip out at certain moments, forcing Nezumi to push Shion away at times, to retreat from him, to breathe in slow inhales and exhales that Shion waited through patiently.

            And then there was the normal physicality of sex that Nezumi was careful with. The lube from the NPA agent was used generously, and Shion had laughed at the irony of it, and Nezumi had been so amazed by this sudden unexpected laughter he’d needed to breathe again, inhale and exhale, slowly and deeply, to keep his flames from overflowing out of his skin.

            Even now, despite the drain of Nezumi’s entire body, he felt his fire at the edge of his skin, skimming just under the surface. He knew Shion could feel it too, tracing Nezumi’s skin, he knew how hot he would feel, but even so, Shion did not move away from him, if anything, slid closer, his knees falling against the undersides of Nezumi’s, his lips pressing to Nezumi’s shoulder blade, the tip of his nose, slightly cool in comparison, a point of contact just above Shion’s lips.

            Despite wanting to let sleep consume him, Nezumi kept himself awake, knowing that his body would cool, that it would only take a bit of time for his breaths to fully even out and his fire to retreat after being inside of Shion, after feeling the shake of Shion’s thighs against his palms, after watching the flutter of Shion’s white eyelashes as Shion’s body rolled and tightened and then relaxed.

            Nezumi would wait until his fire was far from his surface, would take this precaution in case he had his usual nightmare. He refused to allow the chance for his fire to overflow in his unconscious and hurt the man who laid beside him, trusting him completely when Shion shouldn’t have trusted Nezumi at all.

*

Nezumi had been freed for a week, and protests against his allowance amongst the rest of society were still covering the front page of the newspaper daily.

            Shion turned the paper over on the kitchen counter, annoyed at how quickly people could judge Nezumi simply because of what he had the capability of doing, rather than how he chose to live.

            “Anyone could pick up a gun and shoot someone, this prejudice is really unfounded. And it’s preventing Nezumi from getting a job or being accepted by society at all. Did he tell you the library wouldn’t accept his card?”

            Safu did not look up from the notes for her lecture she was reading, leaning against the stove with a mug of coffee in one hand and her notes in the other. “No, but you told me, several times. And you should remember that Nezumi has started several public fires.”

            Shion almost slammed down his coffee on the counter. “The NPA released a statement stating he was assessed and found to be fully in control of those fires, and that no one was in danger!”

            Safu glanced up, her hair shifting over her eyes until she tucked it back behind an ear. “Except for the parking garage fire, which is where the difference between Nezumi and a gun-wielding citizen lies. While no one is in danger when he is in control of his fires, there is always the possibility of an accidental fire that he cannot control. And given both his history and track record with spontaneous fire, Nezumi does not appear emotionally stable.”

            “So it’s acceptable to you? That Nezumi will never be allowed to experience normal society? That he’ll be treated like a criminal even when he’s supposed to be a free man?” Shion demanded, and Safu placed her lecture notes on the stovetop behind her.

            “Why are you yelling at me, Shion? I am not agreeing with the public. I can understand their perception of Nezumi as someone with an unpredictably dangerous nature even while knowing they are incorrect in thinking so.”

            Shion felt himself deflate, sinking into the kitchen stool behind him. He reached up, rubbed at his forehead. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I have no reason to take it out on you. It’s frustrating, seeing these protesters in the news, knowing Nezumi is basically still forced to be in hiding, can’t even go out without people acting like he’s some monster.”

            “It will fade away. Everything does. He’s fascinating now, but there will be something new in the news soon. I believe I’ve told you this before, but people move on rather quickly,” Safu said, as confidently as if it was indisputable fact, and Shion couldn’t help but feel a little better at her certain reassurance.

            The bathroom door opened then, and a moment later Nezumi was walking into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

            “Morning,” he said, knuckles still over his eyes.

            “Good morning,” Shion said, almost smiling at the disarray of Nezumi’s hair, half in a ponytail, half out.

            There was a crease on his right cheek from the pillow.

            “I meant to ask, before you sidetracked me,” Safu said. “Should I be looking for a new apartment?”

            Shion looked away from Nezumi, who had taken Shion’s cup of coffee and was lifting it to his lips.

            “What do you mean?”

            Safu gave him a flat look. “I don’t look forward to walking into the two of you engaging in sexual intercourse on the living room sofa again.”

            Shion felt his skin burn. “But – I thought – You didn’t say anything! I thought maybe, you hadn’t, um – ”

            “I hadn’t seen? I do have two working eyes, you know,” Safu said, crossing her arms over her chest and appearing as amused as she was exasperated.

            She had walked in on them two days before, getting home early from her Wednesday afternoon class, and Shion had immediately pushed Nezumi off of him, but the fact that they were hardly-clothed – Nezumi with his boxers on but pushed down and Shion still wearing his shirt unbuttoned and tie despite nothing else – could not have been unnoticed.

            Even so, Safu had merely gone straight to her room and not said a word about it in two days. Shion had thought maybe she’d walked into the house absorbed in a book or lesson plan and not looked into the living room on the way to her room at all.

            “And ears,” Safu was continuing, “I could hear the two of you from outside the front door. And you’re not much quieter at night. Or the mornings.”

            “Safu! Why didn’t you say something?” Shion demanded.

            “I am saying something. Right now,” Safu replied.

            When Nezumi sneezed, Shion turned to look at him.

            “Don’t you have something to say about this?”

            Nezumi sniffed and placed Shion’s mug down on the counter. “You’re the one who’s supposed to say bless you.”

            “About our lack of indiscretion,” Shion corrected, glaring.

            Nezumi rubbed at his nose, his still-sleepy gaze shifting from Shion’s to Safu.

            “Not particularly. I don’t think you have to move out, either. You should knock before you enter rooms, though, it’s polite.”

            Shion turned to Safu to see her resolute expression. “I’m not knocking before I enter my own apartment.”

            “Then you might walk in on sexual intercourse,” Nezumi said, shrugging.

            “Nezumi!” Shion snapped.

            “Hm?”

            “We’ll confine it to our bedroom,” Shion said, ignoring the rising heat on his skin and forcing himself to speak evenly as he looked back at Safu.

            Safu looked at him thoughtfully. “We weren’t going to live together forever, Shion. It was a temporary accommodation that worked for several years, but now it seems you’re at a different stage in your life. I’ll start looking for somewhere new.”

            Shion blinked. “Safu. That’s not – You don’t have to – ”

            Safu smiled gently. “I don’t trust either of you to keep your clearly unbridled sexual energy confined to your bedroom. It will take a little time, of course, but I really don’t mind finding a place of my own. You two would actually do well to move somewhere smaller as well, since you don’t need two bedrooms on your own, and you’re only working off Shion’s salary at the moment.”      

            Shion gaped at her, the concept of moving into a home with Nezumi – into _their_ home – a far too advanced concept for this early in the morning.

            He glanced back at Nezumi again, who was pulling the half-undone ponytail from his hair and looking at Safu with an eyebrow raised.

            “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” Nezumi commented.

            “How so?”

            Nezumi was scooping his hair into a higher ponytail, tying it deftly. “We’re having sex, Safu, we’re not going steady. Why the hell would we buy a house and a picket fence?”

            “I didn’t say anything about a picket fence.”

            “Guys,” Shion interrupted, avoiding Nezumi’s eye. “Safu, you’ll be late to class, you better go. And I need to get going as well. We can discuss this later, but as of now, maybe Nezumi is right, there’s no reason to think about moving anywhere right now.”

            Safu didn’t argue, placing her mug in the sink, retrieving her notes from the stovetop, and grabbing her coat as she led Shion to the front door. “Want a ride?”

            “I’ll take the train,” he said, and she smiled at him before opening the front door.

            Shion glanced back at Nezumi, who was still at the kitchen counter, had turned the newspaper over and was looking down at it.

            “Go on without me, I forgot something,” Shion said, and Safu shrugged, walked towards the elevator while Shion turned from the doorway, not bothering to close the door as he walked away from it back to Nezumi, placing his hand flat on the newspaper.

            “I was reading that,” Nezumi said mildly, looking up.

            Shion reached up, tucked Nezumi’s bangs behind his ear so they were out of the man’s eyes and Shion would know that Nezumi could see him clearly.

            “I know you have some wariness and a preference for distance when it comes to relationships, but don’t ever say this is just about sex again,” Shion said, very calmly and clearly, and Nezumi raised an eyebrow.

            “What are you going to do? Beat me up?”

            “You don’t have to call me your boyfriend. But you’re twenty-six years old. It’s a little embarrassing to still be in denial about your own feelings, don’t you think?”

            Nezumi stared for a moment, then his lips quirked into his familiar smirk. “You’re kind of sexy when you’re trying to be bossy.”

            Shion frowned. “I’m serious.”

            “Bossy and serious,” Nezumi amended, his smirk stretching.

            Shion didn’t bother arguing. He could tell Nezumi understood what he was saying, despite the usual ridicule and childishness he received from the man.

            He leaned forward, pulled Nezumi by the t-shirt and kissed him briefly, then moved away just as Nezumi began to kiss him back.

            “Try to get a job today,” Shion called, turning away from him to head back to the front door. “We’ve got to save up for that picket fence.”

            Shion closed the door on Nezumi’s laughter, smiling as he locked it behind him and headed to the elevators, knowing he was late to his first meeting and not minding one bit.

*

Nezumi was filling out a job application to work at the pizza place he and Shion used to frequent, sitting at one of the tables outside the shop and frowning at the lines left blank –

            _Education:_

_Employment history:_

_Professional references:_

_Personal references:_

            The only sections he’d been able to complete were his name, address – giving Shion and Safu’s apartment, of course – and the question asking for a record of criminal activity.

            Nezumi wove his fingers through his bangs. He had no desire to work at a pizza place.

            But he didn’t want to live as he had for twenty years. Tricking and stealing to survive on his own. He was no longer on his own, and he had a rent to cover, did not want to be a guest in Shion and Safu’s apartment but a resident.

            The theater had rejected him, as had the library, the bookstore, the movie theater, two ice cream shops, the general corner store, four coffee shops, and three restaurants.

            The pizza place was the only place that had given Nezumi an application, the man who did it joking that Nezumi could cook the pizzas with his fire and save them on gas bills.

            Nezumi scribbled Shion’s cell number in the personal reference section, thinking he could add Safu’s but not remembering the exact sequence of digits and wondering if that might not be a great idea in the end. Safu’s honesty could be a detriment to him.

            He sighed at the emptiness of the sheet – his obvious lack of qualification to flip a freaking pizza – then stood up, grabbing it and ignoring the temptation to toss it in the trash can as he entered the pizza shop again and shoved it at the man behind the counter who’d made the gas money-saving joke.

            The man laughed as he looked at Nezumi’s application. He was short and portly, thick curly red hair protruding out the neck of his sweat-stained t-shirt. When he laughed, his body shook.

            “Not very qualified, eh, FireMaster?”

            “There wasn’t a section on hour availability, but I can come in any time,” Nezumi said, ignoring the man’s question, deciding against the charming smile and any other of his means of seduction that Safu had so truthfully pointed out could be rather useful.

            Nezumi didn’t care to see what this man might look like if seduced.

            The man crumpled Nezumi’s application, and Nezumi clenched his jaw, was about to leave when the man extended a hand.

            “Call me Boss. ‘Course you got the job, you’re a flipping FireMaster, should bring in some tourists, eh? You can start now, right? T-shirt’s in the back, there’s a sink back there too, wash your hands and put on some gloves and grab that pizza from the oven, it’ll be burning soon if you don’t hurry up.”

            Nezumi blinked, then followed where the man – Boss – was pointing, slipping around the counter and indeed finding a t-shirt in the back room, which just appeared to be a storage room of tomatoes, bags of cheese, and sacks of flour.

            There was one t-shirt – the same that Boss was wearing, green with _Big Pizza_ written in block red letters – slung on one of the sacks of flour, seemingly worn and tossed there, but it was the only t-shirt Nezumi could see, so he grabbed it, pulled it on over his own t-shirt, and washed his hands in the sink in the corner, nearly walking into a hanging pepperoni loop.

            Back in the kitchen area that opened out onto the store, Boss was yelling at him about the burning pizza, so Nezumi opened what he assumed was the oven to receive a blast of heat in his face.

            He moved back quickly, Boss by his side, pushing him away with an oven-mitted hand before sliding a large circular oven tray beneath the pizza and pulling it out in a swift movement, closing the oven door as he did so.

            “Thought you’d be used to the heat, kid. Slice this before it cools, and get the couple at the counter. I gotta pee. And either clip that hair out your face or wear a hairnet, there’s a box of them in the back.”

            Nezumi did not point out that he had no idea how to work the register, and got to cutting the pizza before stepping up to the counter where the couple took one look at him, then nearly shrieked, the woman pulling her husband back out the door.

            Nezumi pushed his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t have any hair clips on him, and returned to the back to find the box of hairnets on top of a large jar of ranch dressing.

            He freed a hairnet, pulled it over his ponytail and felt it plaster his bangs to his forehead, was still trying to push them back out from his eyes and keep them under the net at the same time when there was a loud flushing and Boss appeared from a door to the side.

            “What happened to the customers?” he demanded, on seeing Nezumi, who ripped off the hairnet.

            “Scared them away,” Nezumi said, realizing he had no idea what his wages were. “People aren’t fond of me.”

            Boss gave Nezumi a long look, and Nezumi waited to be fired, but then Boss was shrugging and walking past Nezumi to the sink to wash his hands.

            “I’m gonna wager the people like pizza more than they dislike you, kid. Stop playing with your hair and put your hairnet back on, this isn’t a beauty pageant.”

            Nezumi blinked, then did as he was told, returned to the kitchen to shadow his new boss, who barked out orders as if Nezumi had been there for months while Nezumi fought to keep up, relieved at this treatment, like he was someone capable, like he was someone reliable, like he was someone ordinary.

*

“I didn’t think of it before, but you could just work at my mom’s bakery. In the kitchen, of course, so she doesn’t lose business,” Shion offered, watching Nezumi strip off his _Big Pizza_ shirt.

            The man smelled of sweat, tomato sauce, and garlic, the same stench that hung on him every day for the four days he’d been working at the pizza place.

            “I’m not working for your mother, Shion,” Nezumi replied, bending as he pulled off his jeans.

            “Why not? She wants to meet you anyway.”

            “Is that a joke?” Nezumi asked, glancing at Shion in just his boxers.

            “Why would that be a joke?”

            “You told your mom about me?” Nezumi asked, his eyebrows knitting.

            Shion was sitting on his bed, discarded files by his side, watching him. “Of course.”

            “And she doesn’t care that you’re sleeping with a criminal who sets shit on fire,” Nezumi said dryly, taking out his ponytail and shaking his fingers through his hair. “Typical, that the woman who raised you would have just as little common sense.”

            Shion tilted his head, watched as Nezumi kicked his clothing to the side of the room and started making his way through the room to the door.

            “I told her you’re not dangerous,” he said, watching Nezumi turn at the doorway.

            “You shouldn’t lie to your mother,” he said, not sounding angry, not sounding anything but tired, really.

            Shion scooched off his bed, followed Nezumi out into the hallway where the man was heading to the bathroom to shower.

            “You’re a part of my life. Of course I would tell my mother about you, and I expect you to meet her even if you don’t want to work for her,” he said, while Nezumi knocked on the closed bathroom door.

            A moment later, the door opened, and Safu emerged with a green face mask.

            “You’ve got some crap on your face,” Nezumi said.

            “And you reek of sweat and cheap pizza. It’s a face mask. It’ll do good for your pores, you can use some if you’d like, I left it on the sink. And you should meet Shion’s mother, she’s really lovely,” Safu said.

            “Mind your own business,” Nezumi muttered, walking into the bathroom, and Shion stepped around Safu to follow him, catching the door just as Nezumi attempted to close it. “Do you mind?”

            “You’re not a fugitive in hiding anymore. You’re a free man, and I’m not going to hide you or be ashamed of you. You’re going to meet my mother,” Shion said, while Nezumi picked up Safu’s face mask cream from the sink and examined it.

            Shion watched him unscrew the lid of it, sniff the contents, stick a finger in and dab a glob of the green stuff down the bridge of his nose.

            He looked in the mirror, then glanced at Shion, who almost softened at how ridiculous he looked.

            “Do you really think I’m great with parents?” he asked.

            “I don’t think you would know what you’re like with parents, as I doubt you’ve been in a relationship and met any before,” Shion replied, and Nezumi looked at him another moment, then dropped the face mask cream back on the sink, bent down to strip his boxers, and went to the shower to turn on the spray.

            “Wanna come in?”

            “Are you going to meet my mother?”

            Nezumi stuck his hand under the spray. “Maybe,” he said, and Shion bent down, picked up Nezumi’s boxers from the tile.

            “I already showered.”

            “I wasn’t inviting you in to get clean,” Nezumi replied, glancing back at him.

            “I know. I’ve got to finish some work stuff, but I should be done by the time you’re out, and then you can join me in bed.”

            “Or you could come in here, and then we can have another go on your bed afterward,” Nezumi countered.

            “Or,” Safu shouted, and Shion jumped, glanced over his shoulder but could not see down the hallway to the kitchen where Safu’s voice rang from, “you could recall that you have a roommate who does not care to hear the inane banter about your sex lives and then you can shut the door and let me get some work done!”

            “Well, that doesn’t seem as fun as the other options, but I suppose we can consider it,” Nezumi said, smirking at Shion, who smiled at him.

            “Remember to clean your hair from the drain when you’re done,” Shion said, leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him, returning to his room to drop Nezumi’s boxers into his pile of used clothes and thinking he really had to start using his laundry basket for laundry; it was currently filled with stacks of books.

            He left his room again to find Safu sitting at the kitchen counter, the shine from her laptop screen illuminating her face mask.

            “Sorry,” he said, and Safu glanced at him.

            “I liked you two better before you started your sexual relationship.”

            Shion smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t know I liked sex this much before Nezumi.”

            “Can I ask you something about it?” Safu asked, turning in her stool to fully face him.

            “About our sex?” Shion asked, confused.

            “Yes. I’ve been wondering. FireMasters, at times of intense emotional climaxes, are prone to conjure accidental fires, as you know. I know, of course, that Nezumi has a larger capacity for control than the rest of his family. But sexual intercourse, I would assume, would really challenge him. Especially in the case of Nezumi, a man who I largely doubt has come in any physical contact at all, sexual or otherwise, since the massacre of his village. The actual stimulation of sex on areas of the brain is quite intense, on top of the emotional connection Nezumi feels with you,” Safu said, and Shion stared at her.

            “Are you asking if he has ever started a fire during sex?”

            “No. I’m assuming he has not, since you’re still having sex, and if he did ever conjure fire during the process I doubt he’d risk intercourse again. I’m asking how he prevents it.”

            Shion bit his lip. “Um. Well the first few times he’d have to, you know, take breaks. Breathe to calm himself. But lately he’s just been more in control, I think he’s more prepared for what he’ll feel. I can feel that there’s fire right under his skin, he tends to become very hot, but I don’t feel as if I’m in any danger.”

            “I’m glad you feel safe, but I hope he isn’t letting his guard down. I know it’s easy to forget, Shion, but Nezumi is capable of great harm.”

            Shion narrowed his eyes. “You know just as well as I do that Nezumi wouldn’t do anything to hurt either of us. To hurt anyone.”

            Safu looked at Shion for a solid moment. “Do you believe that his mother could see the future?”

            Shion felt his shoulders drop. “You think he’s going to kill me?”

            “No. But I think his mother’s vision of you burning from his fire will occur. Nezumi wouldn’t believe in fortune telling if it wasn’t true.”

            “He was a kid,” Shion corrected. “And when she told him this, she was dying, and he was scared, and maybe he – ”

            “I believe what he heard, and what she told him, was true. I don’t think he’ll kill you. But I think you will find yourself in danger of his fire one day, and that you need to be wary of that. Prepared,” Safu said, her voice a little stressed.

            Shion crossed his arms. “And how do I prepare for that? Carry around a fire extinguisher everywhere I go? If it’s going to happen either way, why should I bother with any precaution?” he countered.

            “You could talk to him about it,” Safu said, leaning forward.

            “About what?”

            “About what you should do if he starts a fire around you. If you should stay still, or run, or if there is something you can say to him or do for him to guide him through regaining control and recalling his fire. He’s only going to conjure a fire around you if he’s out of control, if it’s accidental, so maybe there’s something that will help him regain control, something you could do to facilitate that process so you don’t get hurt,” Safu insisted.

            Shion shook his head. “You’ve thought a lot about this.”

            “Of course I have. I don’t want you to get hurt, Shion. I’m worried for you.”

            “He’s not some unpredictable bomb that’s going to blow,” Shion snapped.

            Safu looked at Shion in a pleading way. “Please don’t be angry. Don’t misunderstand. I trust Nezumi, and I care for him, and I know he would hate to hurt you. He wouldn’t be able to recover from it if he hurt you. That’s why you need to talk to him about methods of precaution, about how you should proceed if a fire ever does – ”

            Shion stepped back. “I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to do any of that, because that will only tell Nezumi that I don’t trust him, and I do. I don’t care what his mother saw twenty years ago. He can make his own decisions, he can choose his own future, and he won’t hurt me, and we don’t need to discuss what we’ll do if he tries because he won’t try – ”

            “Shion, you need to be realistic. It will be accidental, it will have nothing to do with what Nezumi wants – ”

            “He’s fully in control!” Shion shouted.

            Shion noticed immediately when the sound of the shower spray was silenced. He glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at Safu.

            “I’m not going to make him feel like I’m in alliance with the entire country out there protesting his existence.”

            “You’re refusing to think rationally because your feelings for him are clouding your judgment,” Safu replied, voice hard, but there was an imploring undertone, and Shion hated it.

            Hated knowing Safu didn’t trust Nezumi, as much as she claimed she did.

            Shion felt his hands curl into fists, but could not reply as the bathroom door was opening and following the steam arrived Nezumi, his hair wet and plastered to the skin of his face, neck and shoulders, a towel around his waist. Drops of water were dripping from his eyelashes, chin, arms, legs.

            “What’s with the shouting?”

            “Nothing,” Shion said shortly.

            Nezumi looked at him with raised eyebrows, then at Safu, who was standing up from her stool.     

            “Are you done with the bathroom? I have to wash off my face mask,” she said curtly.

            “Sure,” Nezumi said, and Safu disappeared down the hallway, her exit punctuated by the slam of the bathroom door.

            Shion could feel Nezumi looking at him, and glanced back. “You’re dripping water all over. You should dry properly before you leave the bathroom.”

            “Why were you fighting?”

            “No reason,” Shion said, slipping around Nezumi and heading to his room.

            Of course, Nezumi followed, closing Shion’s door behind him and pulling his towel from his waist to rub it over his hair.

            Shion stood in the middle of his room and watched Nezumi as he leaned over, wrapping his hair with the towel in a sort of turban, a routine Shion had witnessed several times but which each time fascinated him.

            Nezumi straightened again, fully naked now and still dripping.

            Shion walked up to him, reached out to touch his chest, but Nezumi caught his wrist, held Shion’s hand between them.

            “What?” Shion asked.

            “I’m not having sex with you.”

            For a moment, Shion wondered if Nezumi had heard his conversation with Safu. “Why?”

            “You’re lying to me.”

            Shion freed his hand from Nezumi’s. “What are you talking about?”

            Nezumi looked at him solidly, but Shion had a hard time taking him seriously with the towel on top of his head. “Why were you and Safu fighting?”

            “We weren’t fighting, we were having a conversation,” Shion corrected, reaching up to pull on the towel, and Nezumi winced.

            “Ow,” he muttered, reaching up to bat Shion’s hand away before pulling the towel off himself, his hair falling randomly around his face until Nezumi threw the towel on the floor and combed his fingers through it.

            Shion reached down, picked up the towel, and walked over to hang it on his doorknob before returning his attention to Nezumi, who was rooting around for clothing.

            “You need to clean your room,” Nezumi muttered.

            “I’m not lying to you, Nezumi.”

            “Sure you are. What was your _conversation_ about?” The skeptical stress on _conversation_ was not subtle, and Shion crossed his arms as he watched Nezumi pull on a pair of boxers.

            “It has nothing to do with you, it’s not your business.”

            Nezumi glanced at him, a striped t-shirt over one of his arms. “See that thing you just did? That’s called lying.”

            “I’m not lying!” Shion shouted. He didn’t know why he was angry. Nezumi was, after all, completely correct.

            He didn’t think he was angry at Nezumi, really. Safu’s words still rang in his head.

            _Nezumi is capable of great harm._

            Nezumi looked at him solidly, then shrugged. “I’m going to bed, I’ve got to be up early. Mind turning off the light?”

            Nezumi walked towards the bed, settling in it and pulling the blanket over his shoulder, turning on his side so that his back was to Shion, who turned off the light switch and left the room.

            He had work do to, but no desire to do it, knowing he’d be distracted throughout and not be able to give the task his full attention.

            He went to the bathroom that Safu had left by then, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and peed, then returned to his bedroom, slipping into bed beside Nezumi, whose eyes were open, watching Shion lie beside him.

            Shion turned on his side to face Nezumi. “You said you didn’t believe you would hurt me. You told me that, that you didn’t believe you would kill me. Remember?”

            Nezumi blinked, surprise flitting quickly over his features before his expression was smooth again. “Yes, I remember,” he said, slowly.

            “That’s still how you feel, right? That what your mother saw, that it won’t happen,” Shion clarified.

            Nezumi shifted, reaching his arm up and between his head and the pillow so that his cheek rested on the bend of his elbow.

            “Do you think I’ll kill you?” he asked.

            Shion did not hesitate. “No. No, I do not.”

            Nezumi nodded once against his cheek. “Does Safu?”

            Shion felt his exhale fall from his lips as if it were pulled out of his body. He could see Nezumi’s eyes quickly assessing him, flipping back and forth between both of his.

            Shion wanted to lie, but couldn’t. “She thinks you’ll come close to it. That I’ll be in danger, that I might get hurt, but not that I’ll die.”

            Nezumi said nothing for a moment, then – “She thinks I’m going to put your life in danger, and then I’m supposed to save you.”

            Shion felt his eyebrows crease. “She told you that?”

            Nezumi’s smile was small. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that woman isn’t shy with her opinions.”

            Shion shifted closer to Nezumi, erasing the space between them. “I don’t believe that. I didn’t know your mother, or what she was capable of, and I don’t mean to disrespect her, but I don’t believe what she saw. I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”

            Nezumi said nothing. Continued to look at Shion in that quiet way of his.

            “Do you?” Shion pressed, after half a minute of letting himself be looked at in this way.

            “If I did, I wouldn’t be here,” Nezumi finally said, and Shion exhaled in relief, shifted even closer to Nezumi until he could dip his forehead to Nezumi’s chest, until he could fold his arms between his body and Nezumi’s.

            Shion breathed in deeply, inhaling the warmth of the man beside him. He felt Nezumi shift, his hand reaching up in Shion’s hair, fingers weaving slowly.

            Shion flattened one of his hands over Nezumi’s chest, felt Nezumi’s heartbeat as if it existed only in Shion’s own palm.

            _Never leave my side_ , he thought, but he didn’t need to say it. He could tell, by the beats of Nezumi’s own heart, that Nezumi understood.

*


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! sorry this chapter took a bit, i actually had this whole thing written with shion's jealous ex-lover/current colleague and nez being dragged to a work party and champagne being lit on fire and so on and so forth but i felt it was a bit too self-indulgent and not very relevant plot-wise so i took it all out and had no idea how to continue this and then took a break for a bit aka forgot about it and then i remembered and came back to it. i've gotten back into the swing of it tho so updates should be more or less regular from now, but also i'm spending next week with my parents so really who knows i sure don't. anyway that was vague, but thanks for your patience and as always thanks for reading and i hope you like the new chapter! :D

It was Monday, Nezumi’s one day a week off from _Big Pizza,_ the day he largely dedicated to lying on the sofa with the fan he’d swiped from Safu’s bedroom trained on his face and doing nothing else at all. It was a routine that had become increasingly cemented as the weeks went by, only more so by the increasing summer heat, and one month after living at Shion and Safu’s apartment found Nezumi asleep in this position.

            Asleep, and then woken by Shion’s return from work, as when the front door opened, Shion walked in talking, though Nezumi realized quickly that the man was not talking to him but on his phone to his mother.

            He realized this because Shion was saying – “Yes, Mom, I know. I’ll see you then, love you.” – and then hanging up.

            Nezumi didn’t bother opening his eyes, even as he was addressed.

            “Have you been in this same position since I left you this morning?”

            “Shh, I’m sleeping.”

            Surprisingly, Shion did not continue to speak to him, and Nezumi listened to the man’s retreating footsteps.

            Nezumi’s relief was short-lived, as it couldn’t have been five minutes later that Shion was back, this time pushing Nezumi gently.

            “Move over, make room,” Shion was saying, and Nezumi finally opened his eyes to see that Shion was not wearing his work clothes, but had stripped down to just a t-shirt and boxers.

            “It’s too hot, don’t touch me,” Nezumi grumbled.

            “Come on,” Shion insisted, and Nezumi grudgingly scooched closer to the back of the sofa so that Shion could stretch out against him, pressing his back to Nezumi’s chest and tangling his feet with Nezumi’s.

            Nezumi let his arm fall over Shion’s waist, reaching the other up to rest his fingers in Shion’s hair.

            “You better not talk,” Nezumi said, closing his eyes again and speaking into Shion’s neck. “I’m sleeping.”

            “You’re the one talking,” Shion said, shifting against Nezumi’s body, but then he was still again.

            Nezumi had not fallen asleep – he found it difficult to do so with Shion tracing patterns onto the palm of his arm slung over Shion’s waist, as if these tracings were some sort of secret, and Nezumi wanted to be awake to learn them all – when Safu came home from work.

            She, like Shion, changed from her work clothes and joined them on the couch, lifting Nezumi and Shion’s feet and sitting before replacing them onto her lap.

            “Do you people mind? I’m sleeping,” Nezumi grumbled.

            “Have you moved from this couch since this morning?” Safu asked, turning on the television.

            Nezumi chose not to answer, instead taking his hand that was still woven through Shion’s hair to prop his own head up so that he could see the television above Shion’s shoulder.

            The news was on, showing traffic reports, and then some political coverage, and then there was breaking news of a fire in an office building a mile and a half away, and Nezumi felt Shion’s finger pause in the tracing of Nezumi’s palm.

            Nezumi watched the fire on the screen for a few seconds, then let his head drop from his hand back onto the sofa cushion, preferring the view of Shion’s shoulder, of Shion’s neck, of the ends of Shion’s bright white hair.

            He leaned forward enough to press his forehead against Shion, right in between Shion’s shoulder blades, and he inhaled deeply, breathed the man in, the familiar scent of him, nothing Nezumi could name exactly.

            Nezumi could still hear the newscasters’ voices coming from the television, but worked at letting the words blend into each other, letting the speech become indecipherable.

            He didn’t want to know if anyone died. He didn’t want to know if anyone was trapped inside the building that he knew he would not be able to reach in time.

            He didn’t want to know if there were lives that needed to be saved because he knew he could not save them.

*

Shion could feel Nezumi’s breaths slipping through the fabric of his t-shirt and branding the skin of his back.

            He watched the office building burning down on the television, and recalled half a year before, after only just meeting Nezumi, watching two houses burning down on the news and thinking that somehow, it was Nezumi’s fault.

            Thinking that because Nezumi had the ability to control fire, that any fire that was out of control was that way because of Nezumi – because of Nezumi’s lack of action, his lack of interference.

            Shion knew, now, this was not true. He remembered his anger from months before and was ashamed of it.

            There was nothing Nezumi could do about this fire. It was a mile and a half away; Nezumi would never be able to reach it in time to help anyone that might be trapped inside. And even if he could, he might hurt himself in the process, trying to call back such a large fire, trying to absorb it all. The smoke of it would surround him, steal his oxygen and fill his lungs in its place.

            Shion realized for the first time he did not care more about the safety of others than he did for his own heart.

            He preferred Nezumi safe on this couch, behind him and burrowed into his back, than trying to rescue others and potentially harming himself in the process.

            Shion wondered when he had gotten so selfish, to value his own concerns over the lives of others.

            Shion wanted to tell Nezumi that this wasn’t his fault. That whatever happened from this fire had nothing to do with him. That he had no obligation to run after every fire, to save these people who had exiled him when it would be an impossible attempt anyway.

            But Shion did not say anything to Nezumi. He only allowed Nezumi to pull him closer against his chest and hoped that as much as he knew his words would be useless, his presence could at least be of some comfort.

*

Two people died in the office fire.

            Nezumi had unearthed his face from Shion’s shoulder blades to read the words as they scrolled across the bottom of the television screen just as Shion’s phone rang, and the man moved from Nezumi’s chest, sitting up and then getting off the couch to take the call.

            Nezumi sat up as well, pushed his bangs up from his forehead.

            “None of this is your fault,” Safu said, and Nezumi glanced at her.

            “I didn’t think it was,” he replied easily.

            “It’s for you,” Shion said, and Nezumi looked up to see Shion holding his cell to him.

            “Someone called your cell to speak to me?” Nezumi asked, skeptical, looking at the phone warily.

            He glanced back at the television screen showing the burning office building, then at the phone again.

            “Well, you don’t have a phone, so he called my office, and one of my colleagues gave him my cell number. Apparently, he knew he could reach you through me.”

            “And who would he be?” Nezumi asked, still not taking the cell, looking up at Shion to see that Shion appeared wary as well.

            “The city’s fire chief,” Shion said after a moment, and Nezumi glanced down at Shion’s cell again before taking it.

            “Is this the part where I have to convince you that I had nothing to do with the office fire downtown?” Nezumi asked, on putting Shion’s cell to his ear. He stood from the couch and walked into the kitchen.

            He could feel Shion’s eyes on his back.

            “Hello, Nezumi. And no, there’s no need for that, I know you did not start this fire.”

            Nezumi chose not to hang up on the guy. He made tea as the fire chief spoke, watching his mug spin in the microwave and the seconds count down in neon green.

            Nezumi opened the microwave when the countdown arrived at one second, preventing the beeping just as the fire chief concluded his proposition by saying, “You have time to think it over, but can I ask if you have any immediate thoughts?”

            Nezumi cupped his mug of hot water with his free hand. Felt the warmth seep into his palm, an innocent warmth, one he welcomed to delve under his skin. He didn’t even have to think before replying.

            By the time Nezumi returned to the couch, he had concluded the call and was attempting to balance Shion’s phone along with three mugs of tea.

            Shion jumped off the couch immediately to help him, handing one mug to Safu, and keeping one for himself along with his cell that Nezumi offered back to him.

            “Well? What was that about?”

            Nezumi took a sip of his tea and sat between Safu and Shion. “He offered me a job.”

            “As a fireman?”

            “No, as a janitor at the fire station.”

            Shion did not appear fazed by Nezumi’s sarcasm. He cupped his mug of tea with both hands against his chest and leaned forward while Nezumi settled back into the couch. “What did you say?”

            “I told him I already had a job,” Nezumi replied slowly, knowing Shion was likely to get on his case about “doing good for others” and “the importance of being selfless.”

            Instead, Shion’s features seemed to soften, and it took Nezumi a moment to realize he looked more relaxed. Relieved, even.

            “Oh. Okay. You do get good pay at Big Pizza.”

            Nezumi almost dropped his tea. “No, actually, I get terrible pay at Big Pizza _,_ my asshole of a boss just ignores labor laws and has me work fourteen hour open-to-close shifts six days a week,” Nezumi corrected.

            Shion rose his mug to his lips and said nothing.

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “You, Mr. Humanitarian, are fine that I’m choosing to work at a pizza place rather than the fire department where I could be saving lives?” Nezumi gestured to the television on his last words, and he watched Shion’s eyes slide from Nezumi to the screen.

            “It’s your life, you should get to choose what you do without it being forced by your ability to manipulate fire,” Shion said, still not looking away from the screen.

            “You don’t think I have an obligation to save these people?” Nezumi demanded.

            “No, I don’t. Why should you have that obligation?” Shion asked, turning to look again at Nezumi swiftly.

            “Because I can save them,” Nezumi replied, keeping his voice even, and Shion shook his head.

            “You couldn’t have saved these people. The office building is too far, if you had left when we saw it on the news you never would have – ”

            “If I worked for the fire department, I’d have been the first one alerted, I’d have been able to get there,” Nezumi corrected.

            Shion was supposed to want him to do this. They were supposed to argue, but not like this.

            Shion was supposed to see this potential in him. To expect him to do what he could with the abnormal abilities he possessed to help people that others couldn’t. Why wasn’t Shion disappointed in him? Why didn’t Shion assume more from him?

            “These are people who hate your existence, why would you even want to help them?” Shion countered, sounding a little desperate, and Nezumi leaned away from him.

            “Right. So I’m glad they died, then, because they might cross the street rather than walk near me.”

            “I didn’t say that,” Shion said quickly, shaking his head, stretching to place his mug of tea on the coffee table. “Is this what you want, then? To work for the fire department?”

            Nezumi put his own tea down as well, crossed his arms. “Of course not. I’m not you. I don’t save lives, I just make pizza.”

            “Nezumi. I never meant it like that. I just – I don’t think it would be a good idea,” Shion hedged.

            “Why not?” Nezumi demanded.

            Shion pressed his palms into his knees. “Two minutes ago you didn’t want to do this! Are you just saying you want to now to argue with me?”

            “I’m not saying I want to work for the fire department, I’m asking you why you don’t think I’m cut out for it,” Nezumi snapped.

            “Nezumi,” Safu said, startling Nezumi, who turned around to look at her, having forgotten that Safu was even on the couch beside him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea either, and I’m guessing probably for the same reason that Shion would rather you didn’t run around putting out fires.”

            Nezumi stared at her. “And what would that reason be?”

            “The last time you tried to put out a house fire on your own, you almost died,” Safu reminded him gently.

            Nezumi felt his shoulders drop. He had not forgotten this, particularly, but he hadn’t imagined it’d had anything to do with Shion’s unexpected reaction.

            “I’m not as selfless as you think I am, Nezumi,” Shion said, very quietly, and Nezumi turned back to look at him, saw that Shion was looking at his lap.

            His fingers were curled loosely over his knees, and Nezumi almost reached out to string his fingers through Shion’s, but didn’t.

            “This isn’t your decision,” Nezumi finally said, unsure why he was saying it.

            He had no intention of working with the fire department. He had no intention of manipulating fire when he didn’t have to.

            He was happy with his life as it was, and Nezumi could not remember the last time he’d been happy. He had no plans on changing that.

            But he couldn’t find the words to reassure Shion. He realized that he didn’t want to reassure him. He didn’t want to promise Shion that he would keep himself safe, because that was a ridiculous promise. An impossible promise.

            “I know it’s not,” Shion said softly, looking up at him, and there was a strange resolution in his expression, as if by sheer force of will, he could have his way, he could keep Nezumi safe, he could never have to learn what it was to lose anything.

            Nezumi admired his determination, but even so, couldn’t help but think of how naïve Shion could be when it came to loss, the unexpectedness of it, the fact that nothing – not taking a dangerous job, not even refusing one – could prevent it.

*

That night, long enough after they’d had sex so that Shion thought Nezumi had fallen asleep, Shion traced the outer edges of Nezumi’s burn scar on his back.

            He was just letting himself touch the scar itself, the discolored ridges of it softened from time, when Nezumi shifted.

            Shion pulled his hand away when Nezumi turned and rolled onto his back. His eyes were gentle, lazy, post-sex heavy.

            “I thought you were asleep,” Shion admitted.

            Nezumi blinked in a slow way. “It’s okay,” he said, after a moment, his voice thick as if he was already partly unconscious.

            “Do you remember? How long it took to heal?” Shion asked, curious even though he knew Nezumi did not like to think of his past, even though he knew Nezumi was forced to think of his past when he was asleep and preferred not to have to outside of his nightmares.

            Shion couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know everything about Nezumi. He wanted to know the parts that hurt. He wanted to take some of the pain from Nezumi, he wanted to carry some of the weight of all that time Nezumi didn’t want to acknowledge.

            Nezumi turned onto his side again, this time facing Shion, made a soft sound in his throat like he did at nights, half-murmur, half-sigh. “Dunno. It was a long time ago,” he said sleepily.

            Shion nodded. He wouldn’t press the question. He turned his head, touched his lips to Nezumi’s forehead, felt the rustle of Nezumi’s bangs between his kiss and the skin of Nezumi’s forehead.

            _Sleep well,_ he thought, though he knew Nezumi would not, because he never did.

*

“Maybe you should do a display,” Shion said, chewing on a crust of pizza and leaning over the counter.

            Nezumi didn’t look up from the mushroom pizza he was slicing, though he could have sliced it with his eyes closed. Nezumi could have sliced pizzas in his sleep by now; he’d been working at _Big Pizza_ for two months – it was a full month after the fire chief’s job offer, and while the chief had called persistently for three weeks after the first request, Nezumi was relieved that an entire week had gone by without being pestered by the guy. “If you want to look at something, go to an art museum, not a pizza shop.”

            “I’m not talking about pizza. I’m talking about fire. A fire display.”

            Nezumi finished the four cuts and closed the lid of the box before looking up at Shion. “And what do you know about fire displays?”

            Shion brushed his hands together as if to get pizza crumbs off of them. “I know it was a FireMaster ritual to show their appreciation of fire. You guys did it twice a year.”

            Nezumi resisted the reflex to push his bangs from his forehead, as they were already pinned back and covered by his hairnet. “A trained group of FireMasters performed the ritual, it wasn’t everyone.”

            “But you could do it.”

            “I don’t want to do it,” Nezumi replied shortly, turning to grab the next pizza from the oven.

            “I know you don’t like conjuring fire. But I think if you did it for this reason, to honor it, you might find joy in it. I’ve been thinking, and I’ve come to the conclusion that this is important for you to do. To embrace this part of yourself. Since you’ve been discovered, the world has been trying to shame you for who you are. This might help,” Shion rambled on, and Nezumi wished his boss hadn’t taken the day off today so he could come out from the back room as he always did when Shion visited and yell at Shion for distracting Nezumi with his incessant talk. 

            “Might help what, exactly?” Nezumi sighed, boxing the next pizza, slicing it, closing the box, stacking it, and turning for the last one left in the oven.

            “I don’t like the idea that you hate a part of yourself, an incredible part of yourself.”

            “I don’t hate any part of myself, actually. I’m fantastic,” Nezumi replied dryly, slicing the pizza in front of him with a little more vigor than necessary.

            “Maybe hate is a strong word. But I know you don’t like manipulating fire, and I just think… Well, to be honest, I keep thinking about what you showed me. What you showed the NPA agent, that bonding ritual. How amazing that was. I guess it’s partly a selfish request, but I’d like to see more. And I think it will help you too, help you connect with this part of you that you’ve been hiding for over twenty years.”

            Nezumi looked up from his stack of pizza boxes. “So you just want to watch me play with fire to satisfy your own fascination.”

            Shion crossed his arms. “No, Nezumi, that is not what I want.”

            “You just said it was.”

            “If you were listening, you would have heard that I want you to do this for _you_ primarily, and my own benefit is only a secondary motive.”

            “Oh, is that right?” Nezumi asked, lifting the stack of pizzas and sliding them across the counter to Shion. “That’ll be 30 bucks.”

            “Do I get a discount?”

            “For annoying me? No, sorry, you don’t.”

            Shion rolled his eyes, reached for his wallet and pulled out two twenties, which he slapped on the counter before taking the boxes of pizza.

            “Keep the change,” he said, and Nezumi picked up the bills, shook his head.

            If the guy was willing to give away ten bucks, Nezumi wasn’t going to complain about it.

            “Maybe you could stop by the facility after your shift, I want to introduce you to my colleagues,” Shion suggested, balancing the boxes of pizza in his arms.

            Nezumi made change for one of the twenties in the register and pocketed the ten dollars change Shion had given him.

            “I don’t get out till after midnight, you planning on still being at work that late?” Nezumi asked, to avoid answering the question.

            Of course he was not going to meet Shion’s colleagues, who would no doubt find his presence as much of a threat as nearly everyone else in the city.

            “I might, we have a lot to do before the end of the quarter. Hence the pizza,” he added, shifting the boxes in his arms.

            “You need help with those?” Nezumi asked. He knew Shion had walked to the pizza place from his research facility, and the walk back wouldn’t be any easier carrying three large pizzas.

            “I got it,” Shion replied. “But you could get the door.”

            Nezumi walked around the counter, stepped around Shion, and held the door open for him. “Good day, Your Majesty,” he offered with a smirk, and Shion smiled at him as he walked out the door.

            Nezumi let the door close and watched Shion through the window of it as he looked both ways before he crossed the street, shifted the pizza boxes again, walked down a block, turned the corner, and slipped out of sight.

            Nezumi returned behind his counter to put out the bell for customers to ring, then went in the back room for a bag of flour to start another batch of dough for the crust.

            As he worked, Nezumi found himself thinking back to the fire displays he had watched growing up, how much his mother had loved them, had always made sure to get to the field where the rituals were performed early so they could sit right at the edge of the circle of stones – front row seats.

            He tried to remember what exactly the fire displays entailed, how fire was contorted into these performances, but all Nezumi could manage to picture from the rituals was his mother’s smile, her laughter at the performances, and the way she would turn to Nezumi, say, _Isn’t that beautiful, my bright star?_ with the fire dancing in the silver of her eyes, changing their color to bright oranges and reds.

*

They’d had to leave before the sun rose, the train ride just over ten hours, to get to the town on the outskirts of the FireMasters’ village around three in the afternoon.

            The last stop closest to the FireMasters’ village was over an hour’s drive from the train station, and Nezumi insisted on walking, but Shion did not argue.

            He still was amazed that Nezumi was taking him there at all, still uncertain if he was awake or dreaming, just as he had been the night before, when Nezumi told him to go to bed early, as they’d be taking the five o’ clock bullet train across the country the next morning.

            Shion, after some surprise and questioning, had finally discovered that Nezumi planned on taking him to where he was born, where he’d grown up, where the other FireMasters had lived.

            Shion had not complained about this late notice. He had not asked Nezumi if they could go a different day so he could make sure he was approved to take the day off work.

            He had not argued at all, but nodded as if he’d been expecting Nezumi to take him to his village all along, then stepped out of his room to email his colleagues and alert them of his absence the next day.

            Shion also did not ask Nezumi why the man had suddenly decided to take Shion to his village. Shion decided that it would be best not to ask too many questions, as he was wary of Nezumi changing his mind, of Nezumi regretting his decision to take Shion to the setting of the part of his life he refused to talk about.

            And so Shion walked with Nezumi in silence, swallowing every question that tried to rise to his lips, and then they were leaving the gravel road and walking down a dirt path into the woods, and Shion followed him still, careful to copy Nezumi’s steps and avoid tripping on stones or roots of trees.

            “You need a break?” Nezumi asked once, a half hour into the forest.

            Shion was tired, but by no means wanted to stop going. He shook his head, felt Nezumi’s gaze slip over his body as if in assessment, but Nezumi said nothing, and then they were walking again.

            Shion’s most pressing question was how Nezumi knew where to go. He had been a very young child when he’d lived in this village, and the night he’d run from it, he’d been scared and most likely traumatized from the death of his entire people, unlikely to have paid attention to where he was going as he left.

            How did Nezumi know how to maneuver these woods? How did he know the way from civilization into the thick of the trees?

            As with the others, Shion didn’t ask these questions. Nezumi walked without any hesitance, and so Shion trusted that the man knew where he was going.

            They’d been walking for two hours when Nezumi finally stopped, and Shion looked around, finding only more trees with sunlight dripping like rain down between their canopy.

            “We’ll take a break now,” Nezumi said, sitting on a fallen log and pulling off his backpack.

            Shion sat beside him, watched Nezumi pull two bottles of water from his pack and offer one to Shion, who took it gladly.

            “You’ve been oddly quiet,” Nezumi remarked, after downing half his bottle.

            Shion took his own bottle from his mouth. He licked his lips and looked at Nezumi and didn’t know what to say, but then Nezumi was smirking.

            “Let me guess. You’re worried that if you say something, I’ll change my mind about taking you to my village.”

            Shion bit his lip, then let it go. “Will you?”

            “Change my mind?” Nezumi asked, then looked away from Shion, into the trees as if he could see something there, something more that Shion could not. “No. You should see it.”

            “Why?”

            Nezumi shrugged. Pushed his bangs up, and they slicked back momentarily with his sweat. “You’re the only one I have to show it to.”

            Shion didn’t have anything to say to this. Instead, he reached out, weaved his fingers through Nezumi’s, and Nezumi did not pull away, held Shion’s hand even as they split three of Safu’s granola bars and two tangerines between them, and then Nezumi was taking his hand back to zip up his backpack, though he reached out and caught Shion’s fingers again as he stood up, pulling Shion with him.

            “Let’s keep going, it’s almost dark.”

            They kept going, Shion beside Nezumi this time, their hands together, and as the trees began to clear, Nezumi’s hand began to tighten around Shion’s.

            Shion squeezed back in equal pressure, noticing the blackening of the ground – ash mixed with soil, the remains of the massacre a part of the earth after twenty years.

            Soon, the trees were gone completely, and the expanse of Nezumi’s village was larger than Shion could ever have imagined, so that by the time Nezumi had led Shion to the center of it, Shion could hardly see the trees ringed around them.

            The earth had been charred, and grass had not grown but for a few sprouts of weeds and random, sparse clumps of wildlife every few yards. The remains of the cottages around the expansive clearing were debilitated, hardly recognizable as places of inhabitance.

            Shion twisted around, trying to take the entire village in at once, trying to imagine what it had looked like before it had been wiped nearly clean, but it was hard to imagine any life there with what remained.

            It was quiet, in the center of the clearing where Nezumi stopped walking, and Shion stopped beside him. The air felt denser, like cotton that muted the natural rustling that had been persistent as they’d walked through the trees.

            Nezumi’s hand was extremely tight around Shion’s. Shion wondered if this was the first time Nezumi had returned to his village in the twenty years since he’d run from it.

            He looked at Nezumi’s profile, saw that the man was looking around the clearing with sweeping eyes, hardly taking anything in, appearing more as if he was searching, and right as Shion was going to say something – what, he hadn’t yet decided – Nezumi was pulling him again, a tug of his hand and a low – “It’s this way.”

            Shion did not know what exactly Nezumi was talking about, but followed him, stopping every time the man stopped, watching Nezumi look around, close his eyes for brief moments when Shion could imagine he, too, was trying to picture this village as it had been when there was life in it.

            Nezumi looked as if he was trying to remember, and Shion watched Nezumi with a swelling heart. Nezumi, he knew, was not a man who was very fond of his memories.

            But here he was, in the middle of his past, trying to remember, and Shion allowed himself to be pulled around the clearing, seemingly at random, until finally Nezumi stopped and no longer seemed lost.

            Shion saw that Nezumi was looking down, so Shion looked down as well, found himself in front of a row of stones that he quickly realized was not a row at all, but a large circle.

            “What is this?” he asked, and Nezumi let go of his hand, but only to place both hands on Shion’s shoulders and pivot him so that he faced away from the circle.

            “Walk one hundred steps away from the stones,” Nezumi said, removing his hands from Shion’s shoulders, and Shion blinked at him.

            “Why?”

            “Remember when you weren’t asking questions? That was fun, let’s try that again.”

            Shion opened his mouth to ask another question, then stopped himself, looked straight ahead of him, and started walking, counting aloud as he did so. “One, two, three…”

            He glanced over his shoulder twice to see that Nezumi was walking opposite of him, had stepped into the circle of stones and seemed to be heading towards the center of it.

            At one hundred, Shion stopped walking and turned around fully to see that Nezumi was quite far from him now, but also was no longer walking and was standing facing Shion. His hair, Shion noted, was no longer tied up in its ponytail as it had been, but let loose around Nezumi’s shoulders.

            “What’s going on?” Shion called, his voice carrying throughout the emptiness of the clearing, louder than he’d intended.

            He almost wondered if the properties of sound did not exist properly in this village. If he were to have whispered, if Nezumi would have been able to hear him perfectly, despite being a few dozen yards away.

            “Don’t come closer,” Nezumi said, not lifting his voice at all, but Shion heard him as clearly as if Nezumi were still beside him. “This is where the trained FireMasters performed.”

            Shion looked around, then realized Nezumi meant within the stone circle. “Performed what?” he asked, confused.

            “The fire displays you were talking about,” Nezumi replied, his voice low and calm, and Shion remembered only three days before, mentioning fire displays to Nezumi at the pizza place.

            He’d figured Nezumi had written the idea off, rejected it on the spot and forgotten about it.

            He would not have guessed that Nezumi had been considering enacting a display for Shion, taking Shion to the place of his birth and doing it properly, as his ancestors had before him for generations.

            Shion swallowed. His heart felt huge. His skin felt oddly electric, covered in livewire.

            It was an honor in itself to be in the remains of this village with the last surviving FireMaster.

            But it was hardly believable, that Nezumi would allow him this – to see this, when no non-FireMaster had ever witnessed a fire display.

            Shion knew Nezumi was not trained to perform this ritual. But he also knew what he would witness would be no less authentic, no less true. Nezumi’s ritual, Shion was certain, as different in circumstance, audience, and performance as it might be from every ritual preceding, would carry with it the meaning of every ritual all the same.

            “We always had to sit outside the ring of stones to watch the display. But we were all FireMasters. It was a precaution, but even so, if any flame skirted the border, any FireMaster watching could turn it back. You, obviously, cannot do that. So again, I’m going to tell you not to come any closer than where you stand now. Do you understand, Shion?” Nezumi asked, very seriously, and Shion nodded, then replied, this time not bothering to raise his voice.

            “Yes, I understand.”

            Nezumi nodded, and from his distance, Shion thought he saw the man close his eyes.

            It was only then, watching Nezumi standing still and breathing, that Shion remembered that the last time Nezumi had conjured fire in this clearing, it had been to cremate the lifeless bodies of everyone he knew.

            Shion felt his stomach drop. He almost wanted to call out. To tell Nezumi that this was a mistake. That he didn’t need to do this. That he shouldn’t do this.

            But before Shion could say anything, there was fire. What looked like several explosions of it, bursts of brilliant light erupting out of the ground around Nezumi like volcanic surges flaring up in cylinders of violent flame.

            There were four of these upsurges, two in front of Nezumi, two behind, forming a square of which he was the center point. Nezumi had not moved at all, and Shion was not even sure if his eyes were open, but could hardly look at Nezumi for the fire that kept stealing his attention away from the man who seemed so small in the center of it all.

            The towers of flame had to be at least five feet in diameter, and kept rising, taller than Nezumi, then taller than the trees in the forest they’d just trekked through, and then as tall as the skyscrapers in the city they’d left that morning.

            Shion stared up at them from his far vantage point, felt small and invisible and amazed, and then the fire was changing in a way Shion could not name at first, brightening, he thought, before understanding – the red of it turning more orange, and then all of it slipping into yellow, and Shion knew that the color of fire corresponded to its heat, realized Nezumi could not only conjure and control fire, but could manipulate the properties of it as well.

            He watched as the fire turned from yellow to a bright white, an almost blinding white, and he thought there were tinges of blue within it before it was changing again, dulling back to yellow, then orange, then the dullest red just as Shion felt sweat prickle at his skin from the heat of it, reaching him in thick gusts despite his far distance.

            The towers of flame were shrinking, then plummeting down, and once they were only as tall as Nezumi again they were rising off the ground, and then they were rounding into spheres, large balls of flame that were moving. They spun around Nezumi, slowly at first so Shion could distinguish the four spheres like planets revolving a sun – revolving Nezumi, who stood still with his arms by his sides – but then the orbs were revolving faster, faster, faster still until they blurred together into a thick firey ring that seemed to vibrate around Nezumi.

            The ring of fire was rising, up above Nezumi’s head, higher and higher and higher, and Shion watched it in amazement, but also, he acknowledged within himself, fear.

            Nezumi’s ability was far more incredible than Shion had ever allowed himself to acknowledge. The sheer amount of fire hovering in the air could kill thousands. It nearly filled the sky. It nearly touched the trees around the clearing despite how far the trees were from where Nezumi stood.

            And then, for as slowly as it had risen, the fire was plummeting down, not stopping, hitting the ground in a way Shion expected to hear with a crash, but of course it was soundless. The ring of fire burned on the ashen dirt, surrounding Nezumi, isolating him and growing into a wall that hid him completely, a wall that rose taller than him, that stretched from the ground and upward, and Shion knew Nezumi had told him to stay where he was, but he wanted to step forward.

            He wanted to run. He wanted to clear the space between himself and the circle of stones, he wanted to keep going, he wanted to reach this wall of fire inside of which Nezumi was alone, he wanted to barrel through it, he wanted to find Nezumi within it and reach out, hold his hand, the hand of the last surviving FireMaster, and remind him that he was not alone.

            That it was not him on one side of a wall, on one side of his fire, and everyone else on the other.

            That Shion was with him, stood beside him, that fire did not keep them apart and never could.

            Shion felt hot from where he stood so far from this far, and he could not imagine how Nezumi felt. His own eyes were burning, and he blinked quickly, and just when the wall of fire seemed too big to be controlled by any one person, it was shrinking inwards, and Shion realized Nezumi was absorbing it back, consuming it until there was nothing left at all but one man in the darkness.

            Shion had not noticed the sun setting during Nezumi’s display. He had not noticed anything but Nezumi’s fire, the heat of it, the brightness that still stung his eyes.

            Shion blinked until his eyes adjusted to the new dark that was thick in the lack of Nezumi’s fire, and only then did he see that Nezumi had dropped to his knees, his head bowed.

            Shion was running before he realized it. Was clearing the distance between them, the air getting hotter and thicker with each step, and then he was jumping over the line of stones, and then he was beside Nezumi, dropping to his own knees, the ground beneath them hot and searing his knees through his jeans, but Shion ignored it.

            “Nezumi,” he said, reaching out, moving Nezumi’s hair from the curtain it formed over his profile and hooking it behind the man’s ears, leaning down to peer into Nezumi’s face to see that Nezumi’s eyes were shining.

            Nezumi’s shoulders shook once. Shion saw that Nezumi’s hands were flat against the ground, then curling, his fingers clutching at the ash and dirt.

            “Are you hurt?” Shion asked, though he knew Nezumi’s own conjured fire could not burn him, and the man was not coughing, did not seem to have inhaled smoke.

            He could see that Nezumi’s eyes were wide open at the ground. He could see when Nezumi blinked, a drop of water caught in his eyelashes, and when he blinked again, that drop fell onto the dirt between his clenched fists.

            Shion knew then that Nezumi was not hurt at all.

            He was _hurting_ , and there was a difference in that. To be hurt was a temporary pain. But to _hurt_ was a pain that had been with Nezumi for nearly twenty-one years, a pain he had tried to both endure and then ignore and perhaps could not do either.

            Shion reached around Nezumi’s shoulders. Felt the man shake again, pulled Nezumi to his chest, reached with his other hand to hug Nezumi tightly to him.

            Nezumi was tense for only a second, then melted into him, and Shion could not think of any words to tell Nezumi what he felt.

            So Shion said nothing at all. He held Nezumi in the darkness of his burned village, kneeling in the ashes of everyone Nezumi had ever loved, and knew he could never fill the hollow of all that Nezumi had lost.

            Shion hoped, even so, that he could at the very least be some sort of warmth to this man he knew, despite Nezumi’s burning skin, must have still felt the cold of his past no matter how big a fire he conjured around himself.

*

It was past midnight, but Nezumi couldn’t sleep despite the early morning they’d had, and he knew Shion was awake as well, sitting beside him in the carriage of the train on their way back to the city from his village.

            Nezumi was looking out the window at the night sky blurring past, and he did not turn away from the scatter of stars even when he spoke.

            “I’m going to tell the fire department to have me on call,” he said.

            He felt Shion shift beside him, just a small movement of Shion’s arm against his.

            Shion didn’t say anything for a minute, and then quietly, “I just want you to be happy. You deserve that.”

            Nezumi felt his jaw tighten. He didn’t know what happiness had to do with any of it. He didn’t see how happiness was relevant at all.

            Happiness was a trivial thing. It was a privilege. It had never been a factor in Nezumi’s decisions, and he could not believe he’d let himself use it as an excuse to not do what he knew he had to.

            And Nezumi had to do this. He had let himself think it was a choice, but it never had been.

            He’d been in debt for a long time. He had to repay it.

            “If I don’t try to save them, I’m letting them die. I’ve let enough people die,” Nezumi replied, forcing the words out of him because this was the truth, this was what he’d let himself ignore.

            “I hate that you think that, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi, still watching the sky, thought the stars were starting to disappear. They must have been getting closer to the city where the pollution hid them.

            “Just because you hate something, doesn’t make it untrue.”

            “I don’t understand you. You don’t care about strangers. And you shouldn’t. They have nothing to do with you, and yet you want to risk your life for them,” Shion said, words he should not have been saying because Shion was the last person to believe any of that, Shion was the last person to choose himself over a person he didn’t know at all.

            But he was right. Nezumi didn’t care about strangers. Nezumi wasn’t like Shion.

            Nezumi turned from the window. Looked at Shion and saw that the man looked, over anything else, tired.

            “Everyone I care about is dead. Strangers are the only ones left,” he replied, easily, even though it was a lie because Shion was sitting right beside him, and Nezumi cared about him, and that was the truth.

            He cared about Shion. More than he knew it was safe to.

            Nezumi hated that Shion would rather he be selfish, value his own life over that of others. He hated that Shion was making himself selfish for Nezumi’s sake, discarding the values that had driven him for so long just because of Nezumi. Nezumi hated that he was changing Shion; he couldn’t stand it.

            Shion searched Nezumi’s face, his gaze moving in a way Nezumi could almost feel over his features. “I know I can’t change your mind. I won’t try to.”

            Nezumi nodded. He looked away from Shion again, back out the window. When Shion slipped his hand into his own, Nezumi curled his fingers over the back of Shion’s palm.

            He thought it might be nice to fall asleep, but Nezumi had never felt so wary of what his unconscious might do to him, and so he kept his eyes open, searching for stars he knew he would not find.

*


	13. Chapter 13

Not even a week after Nezumi told the fire chief that he accepted the job offer and received in turn a beeper through which the fire department could include him on first alert for all fires within city limits, the first fire occurred, and Nezumi came home smelling of fire and smoke but otherwise completely unharmed.

            It had been a fire in a restaurant. Shion knew of it, because after Nezumi called the fire chief, Shion had as well, using his own status within the city to request to be alerted to every fire that Nezumi was called to extinguish. Shion had not mentioned this to Nezumi, figuring Nezumi didn’t have to know.

            After Nezumi showered, he came into the kitchen where Shion was cooking spaghetti, pouring the pot of pasta into a colander over the sink.

            “How was it?” Shion asked, when Nezumi came over to the sink and grabbed a noodle from the colander.

            He tilted his head up, and Shion watched him drop the noodle on his tongue.

            “How was what?” Nezumi asked, mid-chew.

            “The fire.”

            “What fire?”

            “Nezumi, you came home smelling like smoke. It’s also six in the afternoon, you should be at Big Pizza, but obviously you’re not, meaning you must have been called out for a fire.”

            “You’d look cute in a deerstalker cap, Sherlock,” Nezumi replied, lifting the lid of the pot of pasta sauce Shion had on the stove and nearly sticking his nose in it.

            “Don’t do that,” Shion said, pulling him back. “Well?”

            “Well what?”

            Shion fought not to hit the man. “How was it? I mean, were there people in the restaurant?”

            “And who said it was a restaurant?” Nezumi asked, leaning against the stove.

            Shion blinked. “It was on the news.”

            “Hmm, I see,” Nezumi replied, his eyebrows raised, and Shion knew he didn’t believe him, but he didn’t challenge Shion further. “The sous-chef was still in there, but she’s fine. Inhaled some smoke, but the hospital will sort her out, she’ll be making more soufflés in no time.”

            “So you saved her life,” Shion said, watching Nezumi stir the pot of sauce before lifting the wooden spoon to his lips.

            “This needs salt,” he said, dipping the spoon back into the pot and raising it to his lips again.

            Shion knew then that Nezumi was not going to talk about the life he had saved. Maybe he didn’t even want to acknowledge it. And while Shion did not understand this, he would not press it.

            He took the spoon from Nezumi. “Put plates on the counter. Safu should be home soon, you can set one for her too.”

            Nezumi sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, and a few minutes later they were sitting at the counter, Shion watching Nezumi carefully from his stool.

            Nezumi chugged his glass of water after only a few bites, then reached out and took Shion’s glass, but Shion didn’t argue.

            Instead, he leaned closer to Nezumi, his elbows on the counter.

            “Can I ask you something?”

            “Can I stop you?” Nezumi asked, after he’d drank half of Shion’s water and replaced the glass in front of Shion.

            “When you performed a fire display for me, there was an incredible amount of fire, and yet you hardly took half a minute to absorb it all at the end of the display. But the night the NPA arrested you, you must have taken much longer trying to consume the house fire for you to have inhaled that much smoke. I know you were not completely healed at the time, but still, I don’t understand why you can consume fire so quickly sometimes and not others.”

            Nezumi had stuffed a rather large mouthful of spaghetti into his mouth, and took his time chewing, watching Shion as he did so and then lifting a napkin to his lips.

            “You didn’t ask a question,” he finally said.

            Shion was not surprised Nezumi was being difficult. “Why does it take longer to consume fire sometimes over others?”

            Nezumi pushed his bangs from his forehead, then shrugged. “If I conjured the fire, it won’t burn me. I don’t have to be careful about consuming it. If I didn’t conjure it, it can burn me, so when I consume it I have to be more attentive about the process.”

            Shion had not expected Nezumi to give him an explanation so easily. This made sense, however, and he was surprised he hadn’t figured it out himself. “So did the restaurant fire take a long time to consume?”

            “What does a long time mean?”

            “Well, how long did it take?”

            “I forgot my stop watch,” Nezumi replied, then pointed his fork at Shion. “Has anyone told you that you ask too many questions?”

            “You have, many times,” Shion said, smiling lightly, and Nezumi narrowed his eyes.

            There was the sound of keys jangling outside the front door, and Shion knew Safu was home. She opened the door a moment later, walking in and greeting them, then disappearing into her room to change only to reappear a moment later in a t-shirt and shorts.

            Shion had stood up to make her a plate on hearing her outside the door, and Safu thanked him as she sat on the stool beside Nezumi, whom she glanced at in an assessing way.

            “You were at the restaurant fire today,” she said.

            “You should go into the psychic business, I’m impressed,” Nezumi replied.

            “Shion texted me. How was it?”

            Nezumi glanced at Shion, then back at Safu. “You guys should coordinate your interrogations, it’d be a lot less repetitive.”

            “He saved the sous-chef,” Shion supplied, and Nezumi glared at him.

            “Oh, that’s great, Nezumi. Does that mean this is going to become a regular thing?”

            “I guess that would depend if that sous-chef plans on getting herself caught in any more fires, doesn’t it?” Nezumi said dryly, and Safu raised an eyebrow.

            “What you did today was incredible, Nezumi. But I worry you’ll become prideful. I don’t want you to come across a fire you can’t handle and attempt to do so anyway,” Safu said.

            Shion felt his stomach squeeze. Nezumi blamed himself for his family’s death because of the pride he’d had as a kid. The last thing Nezumi needed was a reminder of humility.

            Shion watched Nezumi warily, but the man merely smiled.

            “I can always count on you for words of wisdom, Safu.”

            “Please don’t patronize me.”

            “I wouldn’t dare.”

            “You refuse to look out for yourself, so someone has to,” Safu snapped.

            At this, Nezumi’s smile slipped. “I’ve looked out for myself for twenty years. I’m quite capable of it,” he said slowly, and Safu’s anger faded.

            “Yes. I know that. And I know you don’t need to be taken care of, and that you don’t need my advice. I’m just worried about you, I can’t help myself.”

            Nezumi didn’t say anything for a moment, then stood up with a loud scratch of his stool on the floor. “It’s fine,” he said, and then he picked his plate up, leaned over the counter, and overturned it on Shion’s.

            “What – ”

            “I’m not hungry. You should eat more anyway, you’re too skinny,” Nezumi said shortly, walking around the counter and dropping his plate loudly in the sink. He left the kitchen then, and Shion stared at his back until he’d disappeared down the hallway.

            “Why is he so upset?” Safu asked, after they heard the close of Shion’s door – not quite a slam, but not quite gentle either. “Did you two fight?”

            Shion turned to Safu, completely bemused. “No. I don’t think so. Maybe it was the fire today, saving that woman, the sous-chef. I tried to get him to talk about her, but he wouldn’t. He could be upset about that.”

            “Upset about saving a woman?” Safu asked.

            Shion looked down at his plate, the mess of Nezumi’s uneaten food on top of his own. “I’m just making assumptions, which I don’t particularly like to do, but I think in Nezumi’s mind, well, she wasn’t the woman he wanted to save. I think he’s disappointed. Maybe it didn’t help, maybe he didn’t feel the way he thought he would afterward, maybe he was expecting something to change. Maybe he was expecting to feel less guilty, or less burdened by his past.”

            “Instead of making assumptions, you could always ask him,” Safu offered, and Shion glanced up at her.

            “I already tried. You know he doesn’t like to talk about this stuff.”

            “This stuff as in his feelings?” Safu asked skeptically, but then she sighed, shook her head. “I know he doesn’t. His personality has rather unpleasant qualities, don’t you think?”

            Shion leaned back. “Safu!”

            “Don’t act offended, you know it’s true. Of course, he’s not to blame for his past and the way it has affected him, but it can be tiring when he gets so temperamental and immature. I find it fascinating that of all the people you would fall for, it would be a man such as Nezumi,” Safu continued, sounding truly fascinated, and Shion regarded his friend, then laughed, unable to help himself.

            “I don’t think you should share these thoughts with him,” he observed, and Safu smiled.

            “Oh, I’m sure if I did he’d simply retort with his own assessment on the faults of my personality. I do admire that about Nezumi. He truly does not care what people think of him. With the exception of you, perhaps, but you are the exception to many things with Nezumi.”

            Shion bit his lip, looked back at his heaping plate of spaghetti to avoid meeting his friend’s knowing gaze.

            “He’s my exception too,” Shion said, not realizing he was speaking his thoughts aloud until he heard them leave his lips, and he was glad at least Nezumi was not still in the kitchen to hear him, as the man would certainly have laughed and made some ridicule or sarcastic comment.

            But then, that was simply another fault in Nezumi’s personality, as Safu might have pointed out. When it came to the truth, the most important of truths, Nezumi preferred the deflection of sarcasm, the defense of ridicule, the safety of denial.

            Shion did not mind so much, that Nezumi was opposed to acknowledging the deepest of feelings, whether they were his own or Shion’s.

            As long as some part of Nezumi knew they were true, whether or not he buried them deep inside himself was irrelevant. As long as he could acknowledge them in different ways – fingers soft in Shion’s hair, lips pressed to Shion’s shoulder when he was half asleep, heavy grey eyes that lingered on Shion for just a little longer than necessary – Shion was perfectly content with Nezumi’s smirks and sarcasm, if that was what the man needed to feel safe.

*

When Shion finally came to his room, Nezumi didn’t want to answer any more questions about the fire in the restaurant, about the sous-chef he was told was still in the building by the driver of the fire truck that had picked him up from _Big Pizza_ , about the deafening sound of the sirens from inside a fire truck, about the heat he could feel from a block away, about the fire he pulled from the windows of the building, the walls of it, the floor, the tables and chairs and stoves and registers and menus and cloth napkins and silverware and the woman in the building, the fire he took from around her – no, he didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t want to think about it, about watching a firefighter run into the building after Nezumi had consumed half the flame, about seeing the firefighter running back out with a woman in his arms, about turning away from this woman because he hadn’t wanted to know if she was alive or not.

            They’d told him anyway. She was alive. She was going to be fine. Nezumi had saved her. For whatever treatment Nezumi had been receiving in this city, he was a hero, and that was a fact, the fire chief told him, outstretching a hand.

            Nezumi hadn’t shaken it. He’d turned away because the fire was out and that was all he was there for – not to chat, not to be thanked. He’d walked home, not caring for the ride offered to him, not wanting to be back in that truck with sirens that hurt his ears. He’d ignored the people on the surrounding streets who called out to him, who said things to him – strangers were always saying things to him, and now it was praise rather than jibes, but Nezumi did not want it, and now that it was over, he certainly did not want to talk about it.

            So when Shion walked into his room, saying something about a Tupperware container in the fridge if Nezumi got hungry later, Nezumi walked right over to him and pushed him against the door Shion had only just closed and kissed Shion’s open lips, swallowed whatever the hell Shion was saying, took the words from the man’s tongue before they could reach his ears.

            He pressed one hand to Shion’s waist, pinning him against the door, a few fingers having fallen underneath Shion’s shirt, touching the warmth of his skin, a few others grappling with the fabric, pushing it higher on Shion’s waist.

            With his other hand he tilted Shion’s head from underneath his chin and along his jawline. To guide Shion, to secure him, so the man could not escape his lips, could not speak, could not ask about the fire Nezumi didn’t want to talk about because he didn’t want to talk about fire ever again.

            He was so tired of talking about fire. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to feel it pressed to the underside of his skin.

            He willed himself to shove it down. Was not about to stop kissing Shion to catch his breath. Didn’t want to catch his breath. He had inhaled smoke and lived, and so he could certainly go without oxygen for a few seconds longer.

            Shion, for his part, kissed him back. Did not protest. Pushed Nezumi only to breathe, and Nezumi allowed Shion this because Shion was not a FireMaster, had not ever had to learn to hold his breath as long as Nezumi had, was not skilled at surviving without oxygen in his lungs.

            When Shion breathed, he did so in gasps that Nezumi could feel, the skate of his inhales cool over Nezumi’s upper lip, the huff of his exhales hot across Nezumi’s chin and cheeks and nose where it spread.

            Nezumi kissed Shion again. And again. Bit the skin of Shion’s bottom lip, hard, until Shion made a sound and Nezumi felt Shion’s fingers fumbling on his own waist.

            Nezumi released him. Kissed the lip he’d bitten, wondering if it was bruised and hurt to be kissed. Shion didn’t give any indication of pain, pulled Nezumi closer, his hands no longer pushing but pulling Nezumi, and Nezumi let himself be pulled, pressed his body right up against Shion’s, wanting to flatten the man against the door completely, wanting no space at all to exist between himself and Shion and Shion and the door.

            Shion rocked his hips against Nezumi’s. Nezumi shoved back in turn. He heard Shion’s moan, a small slip of sound, and wanted to hear more of it. Ground himself against Shion until the man made another sound, then another. His mouth was open, and Nezumi’s was as well. Did not bother kissing Shion, did not want to muffle the sounds he made, instead pushed his forehead against Shion’s, his nose against Shion’s, his breaths against Shion’s.

            He wanted more points of contact. The few he had were not enough. He wanted more.

            He let go of Shion’s waist to grasp the waist band of Shion’s sweats and his boxers at once. Had to move away from him, just a fraction of an inch, to shove these articles of clothing down, hated that he had to move away, despised the brief loss of contact.

            Shion was wriggling, and Nezumi couldn’t figure out what he was trying to do until he allowed them to drift far enough apart to look down, saw that Shion was trying to kick his sweats and boxers completely off his legs.

            Nezumi moved back further, allowed Shion to bend down, pull them off completely, straighten back up only to pull of his t-shirt, was completely naked but for socks while Nezumi was completely clothed.

            Nezumi reached out again. Dug his fingers into the skin of Shion’s waist. Shion was so thin, there was not much flesh or muscle there. Nezumi could feel Shion’s bones easily. Slid his hands lower. Listened to Shion moan deep into his ear. Found his lips by Shion’s shoulder and bit down on it as he lowered his hands to Shion’s thighs, gripped them, then lifted them.

            He felt Shion’s gasp more than he heard it.

            “I’m too heavy,” Shion complained, at the same time jumping up to allow Nezumi to lift him more easily, and then his legs were wrapped tight around Nezumi’s waist and his arms around Nezumi’s neck, and Nezumi stepped forward, pinned Shion further against the door so it could be used as support, so not all of Shion’s weight had to be carried by him.

            “Ow,” Shion said.

            “I got you,” Nezumi replied.

            “The door is cold against my back. And you should have taken off your pants first. And the lube is in the nightstand, you didn’t think this through,” Shion said, laughing, ducking his forehead into Nezumi’s shoulder.

            “Shit.” Shion was right. Nezumi hadn’t thought any of it through. He felt Shion slipping in his hands, shoved him harder against the door and wondered if it would be too risky to try to adjust his grip on Shion’s thighs.

            “Put me down,” Shion said, laughing more, a breathy laugh.

            “I’ll take you to the bed.”

            “You’ll drop me.”

            “I won’t.”

            “You’re already dropping me,” Shion complained, wrapping his arms tighter around Nezumi’s neck. “And your fingernails are digging into my skin, it kind of hurts.”

            “The bed is two feet away.”

            “A very short distance to walk, so put me down!” Shion said, laughing again, his laugh hot on Nezumi’s shoulder, and Nezumi knew he should put Shion down, but he didn’t want to.

            He didn’t want to let go of him. The truth of this thought jarred something within him. He felt a strange, sudden fear, at the thought of letting go of Shion, of ever having to let go of Shion, so startling that Nezumi did let go, and at the same moment he felt Shion’s arms tightening briefly around his neck and heard the man making a startled sound as his feet dropped roughly to the floor.

            Shion hadn’t fallen, necessarily, but Nezumi was aware that he’d let go of the man unexpectedly, and he stepped away, feeling shaky.

            “Are you okay?”

            “Ow, yeah, thanks for the warning,” Shion said, leaning against the door and rubbing at his lower back. “Is wood-burn a thing? Like rug-burn?”

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean – ”

            “It’s fine, Nezumi,” Shion said, laughing again, looking up at Nezumi, who stared back at him, still recovering from the sudden thrill of fear.

            It had been a long time, since Nezumi felt fear in such a cogent, tangible way.

            But the last time, he’d had good reason for it. Now, there was no reason at all.

            Shion was not going anywhere. Nezumi didn’t have to let go of him.

            “Are you okay? I swear I’m not hurt,” Shion was saying, not laughing now, and Nezumi knew he had to compose himself, shove down this strange fear, dispel it because he knew it had no reason to be seizing his insides in the way it was, but he couldn’t.

            He couldn’t breathe.

            _Inhale._

            “Nezumi. Nezumi, look at me.”

            Nezumi didn’t know he’d closed his eyes. He opened them.

            _Exhale._

            Shion’s hand cupped his cheek. With his other hand, his fingers tucked Nezumi’s bangs behind his ear.

            Nezumi wanted to reach up. Grab both of Shion’s wrists. Pull him closer. Touch him more than in these small places, these brief contacts.

            He wanted more in a way that ached. He didn’t understand what he was feeling, why he was feeling it. He didn’t know why the air was so thick. He didn’t know why his throat hurt. He felt as though something had shifted inside him, had been displaced.

            He felt as though something had been lost.

            _Inhale._

            “What’s going on? Tell me,” Shion was saying, and Nezumi gasped, could not inhale any other way but in a desperation he could not explain.

            Shion’s fingers trickled from his cheek. Touched his lips. It felt easier to breathe through his mouth when Shion touched him, and Nezumi was relieved at this.

            He ducked his head down until his forehead was against Shion’s.

            “What’s going on?” Shion asked again, sounding worried.

            Nezumi shook his head against Shion’s. Didn’t know what was going on. Didn’t care. Just wanted it to stop.

            “It’s okay,” Shion whispered, and at his words, Nezumi felt a squeezing in his chest that was completely familiar.

            He understood, in that moment, what he felt, and that was not just fear, not so simple as fear.

            It was what he had felt for too long after the death of his village, it was what he couldn’t shake until he’d decided simply not to feel anything at all because that was easier, that was _possible_ , and to survive as he’d been feeling was impossible.

            It was not quite grief, but longing. Missing. The physical pain of missing someone, of missing everyone, and now in this moment, Nezumi missed Shion, but Shion was right there, right in front of him, there was no reason to miss him, he would never have to miss him.

            Nezumi’s eyes burned. He hadn’t missed anyone in so long. He had forgotten the hollow of it, the carved out way of it. He hated it. Needed to get rid of it. Was tempted to stick his fingers down his throat, to get the feeling out of him, it didn’t belong in him, but he didn’t want to worry Shion, who would doubtlessly notice if Nezumi started retching.

            Nezumi realized he was reaching out. He was gripping Shion, Shion’s face, one hand rising into Shion’s hair, the other trailing back around Shion’s neck. His own skin felt hot, and he knew Shion would be able to feel it too, the fire just under his skin that had risen again, would not be pushed down.

            “Breathe, just breathe with me,” Shion said, his voice deliberate and composed, and when he instructed Nezumi to inhale, Nezumi listened.

            When he instructed Nezumi to exhale, Nezumi did so too, felt his breath mix with Shion’s, their foreheads still pressed together.

            Nezumi did not word his familiar ache to Shion. He did not need Shion to know.

            He would will it away, smother it down in the same way that he had decades ago, the same way he did with the fire threatening to escape his skin.

            He would get rid of it all, and Shion would be safe from his fire, and Nezumi would be safe from the consequences of what would happen if his fire ever could not be willed away in time – Nezumi would make sure he was safe from having to miss anyone ever again.

*

Shion was able to coax Nezumi to bed, and while Nezumi’s skin looked a little less pale than when he’d appeared unable to breathe, he still seemed shaken.

            His eyes were wider than usual, didn’t leave Shion at all, were not set in their usual quiet way but rather had a desperation about them that had Shion uneasy.

            Nezumi also did not take his hands off Shion. In Shion’s hair or on his face or around his wrist or touching his side, if only his fingertips.

            Shion was fine with this. Did not leave Nezumi’s side so that he could accommodate the man’s need to touch him. Worried for Nezumi and did not want him to be scared, because that was what Nezumi looked – terrified.

            Shion, in turn, left his hands on Nezumi as well. Touched Nezumi’s lips, his hair, his waist, his cheek. The man’s skin was very hot, but Shion said nothing about that.

            Shion was naked and vaguely aware of this, but his clothes were by the door, and to get them would mean leaving Nezumi’s side, which Shion did not want to do.

            He wanted to know what Nezumi was thinking. What Nezumi was feeling. Why he had kissed him so desperately only a few minutes before, why now he was so scared, why he looked, all at once, like a child more than a man.

            “Everything is fine,” he said, instead of asking Nezumi anything. He laid beside Nezumi, propped on one of his elbows while Nezumi was on his back, looking up at Shion, breathing in a way that lifted and lowered his chest more heavily than usual.

            Nezumi’s lips moved as if he was going to say something, but then he didn’t, and Shion reached out, touched Nezumi’s lips as if he could feel the words the man didn’t say under his fingertips.

            “Shion,” Nezumi said, and for a moment, Shion almost thought he had simply felt the words with his fingertips, that they’d translated to sound through some miraculous effort of his nerve synapses.

            He realized, of course, that Nezumi had simply spoken.

            “Yeah?”

            “Open the window.”

            Shion blinked, the request unexpected. “Now? My bedroom window?”

            “Now,” Nezumi repeated, a strange undertone to his voice, and then he was shoving himself up, getting off the bed in jerking movements, and Shion watched as Nezumi went to the window and slammed it open himself.

            “What are you – ”

            Nezumi was not standing completely in front of the window, so Shion could see quite clearly when a stream of fire erupted out into the late afternoon sky.

            Shion sat up abruptly.

            “I don’t know where to put it,” Nezumi said, fire still spilling out of him, out of the window, floating in a bright ribbon that lit up the sky.

            “Nezumi – ” Shion couldn’t think of what to say.

            “I can’t make fire disappear. I either have to put it somewhere or consume it back, and I can’t do that,” Nezumi said, his voice shaking slightly.

            “Why can’t you do that? Consume it back?” Shion asked tentatively, not taking his eyes from the ribbon of fire in the sky, hovering not far from the window, twisting around itself.

            Nezumi appeared, at least, to have stopped making fire, and was now only contorting what he’d already released.

            “It will just come out again. I can’t keep it in me right now.”

            “Why not?” Shion asked.

            “How far is the ocean?” Nezumi asked in a rushed way, not answering Shion’s question.

            Shion shook his head. “Far. Nezumi, you can’t just try to drop fire in the ocean from here, you can’t see it, you might drop your fire on a building or a street or a home – ”

            “Where else can I put it? I need you to think. I can’t – I can’t think – I need you to help me, Shion,” Nezumi said roughly, his voice slightly strained, and Shion stared at his back, trying to ignore his questions, his curiosity, his uncertainty.

            FireMasters did not have a set amount of fire they could conjure. Nezumi may have dispelled this much into the sky, but there would still be more inside of him. There was always fire inside a FireMaster, and Nezumi certainly knew that, so Shion didn’t know how this was going to help if Nezumi felt like he was on the edge of losing control.

            Shion knew, if he was thinking rationally, he should have left the room. Put distance between himself and Nezumi, who had basically just warned him – he couldn’t keep his fire inside of him right now, for whatever reason, for whatever was going on with him, whatever had seized him so suddenly.

            But Shion didn’t care for rationale thought. He only cared to think of somewhere for Nezumi to put the ribbon of fire twisting in the sky.

            “What if – Can’t you leave it there? In the sky like that? Until you feel like you can consume it again?”

            “No. If I drop some of it, it will fall on the city.”

            “Nezumi. You’re the most talented FireMaster, can’t you just…not drop any of it?”

            “Clearly, Shion, right now I’m not feeling all that talented,” Nezumi snapped, and Shion noted that the ribbon of fire flickered to bright white, then dulled again.

            This change in temperature, he suspected, was not something Nezumi had done purposefully.

            “Help me,” Nezumi said again.          

            Shion tried again to think. Noted in distraction once more that he was naked. Got up from the bed and pulled on his sweats.

            “Shion,” Nezumi said tightly.

            Shion tried to walk over to the window, but the moment he took one step closer to Nezumi there was fire in his bedroom, just a disc of it hovering between himself and Nezumi. It look like a shield in shape and position.

            “Stay away from me. Stand by the door.”

            Shion stared at the fire in his room, then at Nezumi behind it, who was not even looking at him, still staring out the window at the ribbon of fire that was bright white again.

            The hottest fire. The most dangerous. It consumed oxygen the quickest, it burned the most ruthlessly.

            The fire in Shion’s room, at least, was a sort of yellowish orange, a higher temperature than Nezumi’s usual fire, but not nearly as hot as white.

            “Nezumi,” Shion said slowly.

            “I need you to stay in the room. I need you to stay with me, all right? Just – Stay over there.”

            Shion tried to keep his breaths even. “Nezumi. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

            The disc of fire hovering in Shion’s room turned brighter, more yellow than orange. Grew marginally.

            “You need to consume the fire in our room. Nezumi, can you just do that? Forget about the one outside, you need to – ”

            “I can’t,” Nezumi replied harshly.

            “I’m not going to come closer to you, I promise, but – ”

            “I didn’t put that there. I didn’t mean to. It just – It just happened – Shion, I’m not going to hurt you, but you need to tell me where I can put these fires.”

            As Nezumi spoke, his skin lit on fire, and then it was blowing off from his skin as if by a rough wind, pushed out the window.

            Shion stared as the new fire joined the ribbon already in the sky, twisting less gracefully now, in odd jerks of movement. “I don’t understand – ”

            “I don’t either! It keeps coming out of me, it’s all I can do to get it out the goddamn window!” Nezumi shouted, and there was more fire on him, more fire being shoved away from him, and Shion realized it was Nezumi who was the wind, pushing it off of him, out of the room.

            Shion shook his head. He was sweating. “But if you can get that fire off of you, why can’t you take the fire between us and also – ”

            “I’m trying to move it and it won’t move, Shion. Stop asking goddamn questions, do you think I’d willingly light a fire in your room?” Nezumi snapped, and Shion wanted to ask how this fire between them was different than the fire that kept lighting over Nezumi’s skin – almost seeming as if it was seeping out of his skin – that he was able to control, at least in the sense of making it leave the room.

            But Shion didn’t ask, partly because now was clearly not the time to ask Nezumi questions, and partly because of the knock on the door, and then the push of it against Shion’s back.

            “Shion!” Safu shouted, from the other side.

            Shion, against the door, pushed back on it to keep it shut despite Safu’s attempts to open it.

            “Don’t come in!”

            “It’s on the news, the fire in the sky, what is going on in there?”

            “Safu, get out of the apartment. Okay?” Shion shouted back.

            He watched more fire seep out of Nezumi, he watched it join the ribbon in the sky that appeared to be falling in sections that were violently hitched up as if pulled by invisible strings connected to the stars.

            Shion knew it had nothing to do with the stars. He knew it was Nezumi, fighting to stay in control of the flame despite whatever was happening to him that took his control away.

            The shield of fire floating in Shion’s room was almost white. Shion’s skin felt itchy with the heat of it, a heat that seemed to rush at him in rhythmic gusts.

            “I’m not going anywhere until you come out. Nezumi! Nezumi, can you hear me?”

            “Get out, Safu, listen to Shion!” Nezumi shouted back.

            “Just do what he says, Safu, please,” Shion insisted, and then he inhaled smoke and started to cough.

            “Is there a fire in there?” Safu demanded.

            Shion pressed his palm over his lips, trying to stifle himself.

            “Nezumi, you’re going to kill him!”

            Shion could see, from around the bright white disc that seemed to be growing, that Nezumi was shaking his head. “I won’t,” he said, his voice hard but so quiet that Shion thought he meant the words only for himself to hear.

            Shion didn’t know why Nezumi wanted him to stay in the room. But he knew Nezumi would not risk his life for no reason.

            If Nezumi wanted him to stay, he was going to stay.

            “Shion!” Safu shouted, the door rocking against Shion’s back, and Shion dug his heels into his carpet, pushing the door back with as much force as he had.

            “Shion, I need you to talk to me,” Nezumi was saying, his voice calmer, but only in a forced way.

            “Okay, okay,” Shion said, trying to think of something to say, his head suddenly blank.

            Safu started hitting the door, the sound of her palms against it loud and distracting.

            “This isn’t how it works. I’m not conjuring this fire, it’s just happening, but I can control it, at least, somewhat, I shouldn’t be able to control a fire that was conjured against my will, that must mean – I don’t know what it means – Shion, I don’t – I don’t know – ”

            Nezumi shook his head again. His voice sounded unraveled and unfamiliar. His hands gripped the open window panes. He still wasn’t facing Shion.

            “You said FireMasters only conjure accidental fires at times of extreme emotion. What are you feeling? Nezumi, you have to talk to me, I know it’s hard, but you have to talk to me, what was going on just now after you dropped me?” Shion asked, trying to keep his voice even over the slams of Safu’s fists on the door.

            Nezumi’s skin was on fire again. “I can’t – ”

            The ribbon outside the window was falling. The disc between Nezumi and Shion grew until it was touching the clothes and books on Shion’s floor, and Shion watched them catch fire.

            “Nezumi,” he managed, then was coughing again.

            “Shion, get out of there!” Safu snapped.

            “I can’t leave him!”

            “Dammit! Nezumi, if you care about him, if you love him, make him leave. Are you listening? Nezumi!”

            “Safu, stop,” Shion said desperately, around his coughs, as the fire on Nezumi’s skin grew, as it started falling off of him, not out the window but onto Shion’s floor, onto his clothes, onto the scattered paperwork, onto the books Nezumi had gotten from the library.

            “Get out, Shion,” Nezumi said, turning finally, the fire no longer on his skin but all around him, spreading quickly, and Shion could hardly breathe for the smoke that he’d inhaled.

            “The fire outside the window,” he gasped, using all of his effort to speak, trying still to keep the door shut against Safu’s attempts to barge in.

            Nezumi turned his head, reached out even though he didn’t have to move to control fire, and the falling ribbon stopped falling, though it didn’t lift any higher despite the dangerous proximity to the tops of some of the taller city buildings.

            There were sirens coming from outside. Shion acknowledged them vaguely, wondered how long they’d been there, how he hadn’t noticed them before.

            “Leave,” Nezumi said, turning back to him.

            “If I leave, you’ll lose all control, and that fire out there will fall on the city,” Shion whispered, unsure if Nezumi could even hear him, unsure if his voice left his lips at all, unsure if his coughs were too loud for anything else to be heard.

            “I don’t give a damn about the city. Get out, Shion.”

            Shion fell to his knees. Remained against the door, but it was open a crack, and Safu kept pushing it.

            “Safu, stop,” he managed.

            “The entire room is on fire! Shion, move or I can’t open the door! Nezumi, help me.”

            “I don’t want to go near him!” Nezumi shouted back.

            “Shion, don’t be stupid, if you die in here trying to help him, do you really think he’ll be able to regain any control? If you die, he’ll light the entire country on fire! You have to think, Shion,” Safu was saying sharply, thorough the crack she’d made in the door.

            Shion pushed himself off the floor. The entire half of the room where Nezumi stood was on fire, and the fire should have been spreading closer to him, but it wasn’t, as if there was a glass wall in the middle of his room.

            It was not a glass wall. It was Nezumi. It had to be Nezumi. He had some control, and Shion trusted him.

            “You need to get out,” Nezumi was saying, and the fire was growing around him, had caught on his clothes, but Shion knew it wouldn’t burn him. “None of this is your fault, just get out. Please get out.”

            “The fire outside, Nezumi, you have to – ” Shion insisted, pointing as he managed to stand up fully again, push back against the door, and he heard Safu cursing.

            The fire alarm was going off in the apartment. It was loud and shrill.

            “I can’t deal with the fire outside until you leave, I have to deal with the fire in here until you’re out of here, don’t you understand?” Nezumi snapped.

            “I’m not leaving until I know the city won’t be lit on fire!” Shion shouted, and then he had an idea. “Here! Put it here, all of your fire, bring it in the apartment! Safu, go make sure everyone is evacuating, I’m sure they are, but – ” Shion had to stop talking in order to cough again.

            “Are you kidding me?” Safu shouted.

            “Shion, don’t be stupid,” Nezumi said roughly.

            “If you don’t do this, so many people are going to die. There are fire trucks surrounding the building, you can hear them. This is the safest place for your fire to be,” Shion insisted, watching out the window as the ribbon of Nezumi’s fire writhed uncertainly, falling and then rising again in jerks.

            “I don’t care about the rest of the city. You want to know why this fire came out of me? You want to know what I was feeling? I felt as if – Suddenly I thought I’d lost – ” Nezumi stopped speaking, as with his words the fire in the room spread to the walls as if it were something living, coating the ceiling as if running to cover every space it could.

            “You lost what?” Shion asked. There was fire in the entire room now, past the glass wall and on the bed, on Shion’s desk, on his nightstand, everywhere but for a foot within Shion. He stood as if surrounded by a bubble that prevented the flames from slipping near him.

            “You,” Nezumi managed, and then Shion’s bubble was broken, flames skirted the floor where he stood, climbed onto his socks, and Shion shouted, startled by the heat of it, surprised even though he’d known, of course, that fire was a burning thing.

            At his shout, the fire was gone, whisked from him like an extinguished light, and Shion looked up from his feet to see that the fire in the entire room was being peeled from the ceilings, the floor, the bed, Shion’s piles of clothing, the covers of books, and was being hurled out the window.

            The ribbon of fire was no longer a ribbon, but an overwhelming floating mass of fire, shapeless and swarming like a black hole, but it was bright white, and then it was dulling to yellow, and then orange, and then a deep red that rose higher and higher in the sky, away from the tops of buildings that it had only just threatened to touch seconds ago, away from the city it’d threatened to burn.

            And then it stilled, a hovering mass of flame that Shion made himself look away from in order to face the man who’d created it.

*

“You want to know what I was feeling? I felt as if – Suddenly I thought I’d lost – ” Nezumi’s throat felt too thick to speak. With each word, his fire spread, burned hotter, out of his control and everywhere, closer to Shion, surrounding Shion, and Nezumi knew the man was inhaling smoke, Nezumi knew this was what his mother had seen, this was what his mother had warned him about –

            This was Nezumi, killing Shion, burning Shion alive with his own fire that was in the night sky, over the walls, on the ceiling, on the carpet, inching towards Shion, out of Nezumi’s control – Nezumi was going to lose Shion, and it was out of his control.

             “You lost what?” Shion asked, his voice hoarse, full of smoke, and Nezumi wished his own fire could burn him so that he would feel only the flames on his skin instead of the ache crumbling the inside of his chest.

            _Everything_ , Nezumi thought, and the word that left his lips sounded different, but was really the same. “You,” he managed, and at that moment he realized he was not out of control.

            He did not have to kill Shion. He did not have to lose everything, not again, he did not have to feel that ache of _missing_ again, he did not have to live through that again, he did not have to struggle to survive despite that again.

            It was so much simpler than that. It had always been simpler than that. The solution was obvious, had been from the first time Nezumi saw Shion’s photograph in the newspaper and felt drawn towards it due to some sort of fate, due to the reminder of his mother’s words, due to this tie to his past he’d refused to think about for two decades, when really, there had never been any need for that.

            Nezumi should have put the newspaper down and not thought of it again. He should not have looked for Shion, and he should not have found him. He should not have watched him from a distance. He should not have knocked on Shion’s apartment door. He should not have come back again after he’d left. He should not have gotten lunch with Shion. He should not have kept getting lunch with Shion, and breakfast, and dinner, and coffee, and going to the library with Shion, he should not have read with Shion and laughed with Shion and made fun of Shion and elbowed Shion and argued with Shion and walked beside Shion. He should not have used Shion to get out of prison. He should not have hidden in Shion’s apartment as a fugitive. He should not have allowed Shion to stay with him in the NPA’s prison cell, nor to free him from it. He should not have slept in Shion’s bed, he should not have lived in Shion’s room as if it were his own, he should not have lived in Shion’s apartment as if it were his home. He should not have touched or kissed or bitten or grabbed or pulled or pushed or fucked Shion.

            And throughout all of what Nezumi should not have done, he should not have fallen for Shion. Not so hard as he had, not so completely as he had, not at all.

            Nezumi knew what he should have done, and what he had to do now to fix it. And with this realization, Nezumi felt his fire immediately acquiesce to him, docile and obedient, and Nezumi took it all, threw it all out the window, let it join the fire he’d already shoved off his skin and out into the night, noticed that this fire was falling onto the city and lifted it again, cooled it down to its lowest temperature.

            Nezumi knew this fire was stable in the sky, and wouldn’t consume it back just yet. He was no longer worried. Knew he could consume it easily and push it down to the deepest corners of himself until it was like he had no fire inside him at all. Until all he felt was cold.

            But Nezumi didn’t want to bring any more fire into a room where Shion was present. He turned to Shion to see that Shion was looking at him.

            “Nezumi,” Shion said, but he said nothing else, and Nezumi did not know what Shion felt.

            He should have felt terrified, but Nezumi knew that Shion did not fear him. The man never did have common sense.

            “Everything is fine. I’m going to consume this fire, but I’d like you to leave the room first. You’ve inhaled a lot of smoke. Go outside with Safu and breathe in some fresh air.” Nezumi was able to speak very calmly, very evenly. He was careful to keep everything out of his expression.

            It was easy, to show nothing of what he was feeling, because Nezumi felt nothing.

            He had trained himself from a very young age to feel nothing, and he’d been the most talented FireMaster in his village.

            Shion stepped forward despite Nezumi’s words. “Nezumi,” he said again.

            Nezumi shook his head once. “It’s all right. I’m completely in control now. I’d like you to go outside and breathe fresh air, can you do that?”

            Shion’s gaze flickered from Nezumi to the window behind him, and Nezumi knew he was watching the fire, making sure it was still, it had not fallen, it had not brightened or grown.

            Shion was making sure Nezumi was under control, and Nezumi understood that.

            Nezumi needed to be kept in check. He was not to be trusted. Nezumi was relieved Shion was finally showing some sense, some rational thought.

            “I can stay with you,” Shion said, his eyes back on Nezumi, and Nezumi offered the man a smile, wanted to reassure him.

            He had thought he’d needed Shion, but of course that was not true, and Nezumi should have known that from the start.

            He didn’t need anyone. To need someone was to make himself vulnerable to losing them, to missing them, to the risk of fires that were out of his control.

            Nezumi was not going to risk that again. Should never have risked that to begin with.

            “I’m fine now, Shion. I want you to go outside while I consume this fire,” Nezumi said, absolutely even, absolutely certain, inviting no argument, but Shion still looked tempted to offer one.

            Even so, after a moment, Shion was nodding in a hesitant way, stepping back, turning, though he glanced over his shoulder.

            “I’ll come back as soon as the fire is gone from the sky. Right?” he asked, as if he needed permission to come back to his own apartment.

            Nezumi tucked his hair behind his ears. “Of course.”

            Shion nodded again. “Okay. And I’ll talk to the firemen outside, and I’m sure there’s police but – Don’t worry, I’ll talk to them,” he said, sounding more certain, less hesitant.

            This, Nezumi knew, was because now Shion had a plan. A plan to help Nezumi, and that was what Shion did best.

            He helped. He cared. He supported. He saved.

            Shion was the hero. Nezumi never was, never had been, never would be. No use pretending. Pointless trying to change a past that couldn’t be changed, to pay a debt that couldn’t be paid, to seek a new life when lives weren’t like items in the market that could be picked and chosen, bartered for and bought.

            Nezumi had his life, and since he’d met Shion, he’d been pretending that he’d found another one, fooling himself into thinking he deserved another one, a better one.

            Shion left the room then, and Nezumi heard his and Safu’s voices, their footsteps leading away, listened for the front door and heard it open and then close again.

            Nezumi turned to look out the window again. Leaned out and summoned his fire and watched as it poured back towards him, narrowing into a pointed stream the closer it got to the window and reentering his body through a point on his wrist.

            Nezumi was careful to hold his breath, wary of the smoke such an incredible amount of fire would produce, and he waited a full minute after he’d finished consuming the fire to close his eyes and fill his lungs back with the oxygen they ached for.

            _Inhale._

_Exhale._

*

While Shion watched the fire disappear from the sky into a window on the fourth floor of his apartment building – into the window of his bedroom, he knew – he also spoke to the fire chief, several police officers, and two newscasters.

            From these people, he learned that Nezumi’s involvement with the fire department and his savior of the sous-chef from earlier that day were big news. He learned that Nezumi was considered a hero, his previous public prescription as a threat to the country revoked completely as if by a flick of a switch.

            The fire in the sky, apparently, was not considered a threat despite the way it had appeared to be dropping at certain points in the previous half hour. The public now trusted the last surviving FireMaster, and these feelings were shared by the police, the fire department, and even, somehow, the media.

            Shion was surprised, but took the new development in stride. He was asked for explanations on the night sky fire, and offered no comment other than that Nezumi was completely in control of it, and everyone was safe. His comments were not challenged. He understood that the public was looking at this fire like some sort of show, some sort of display put on just for entertainment, maybe an old FireMaster ritual, and Shion did not correct these assumptions.

            Safu hovered close to Shion, and was the one to point out to him when Nezumi’s fire had been stolen completely from the sky. Shion carefully extracted himself from the questioning of a newscaster and returned to the building, took the stairs up to his floor because the elevators had been temporarily put out of service.

            He tried not to run up the stairs, worried for Nezumi but didn’t want to acknowledge this worry. When he got to his apartment, he went straight to his bedroom, his heart in his throat though he couldn’t name why, and his relief on seeing Nezumi still standing by the window was almost dizzying though of course Nezumi was still there – where else would he be? This was his home.

            Only after recovering from this relief did Shion notice the state of his room. His belongings that were scattered on the floor were charred, ashen. The walls were charred as well, as was his bed. The room was not quite thick with smoke, but hazier than the rest of the house.

            “We can deal with this in the morning. We should sleep in the living room tonight,” Nezumi said, and Shion looked at him again, saw that Nezumi was watching him expressionlessly.

            Shion thought he needed to say something. To tell Nezumi it was okay. That he didn’t care about his possessions, that he didn’t care about his clothing or his bed or his overdue library books.

            That he cared only about Nezumi, and Nezumi was safe, and that was all that mattered.

            But Shion, on looking at Nezumi’s blank expression, found that he could say none of this. His voice seemed oddly frozen in his throat, and he only just managed a nod.

            Nezumi walked towards him then, and Shion waited to be touched, waited for Nezumi to reach out, to pull Shion into his body – Shion was certain, in that moment, that Nezumi would hug him – but Nezumi did not even look at Shion, and then he was walking past Shion, out the door and down the hall, and Shion heard a door closing.

            He turned, saw from the light beneath the bathroom door that Nezumi had disappeared into the bathroom, and then Safu was appearing from down the hall.

            “Why did it happen?” she asked, her voice low so that Nezumi would not be able to hear from the bathroom.

            “Why did what happen?” Shion asked back, though he knew, of course, what Safu was asking about.

            She was asking about Shion’s room. She was asking about the fire that had only just filled it, very nearly wall-to-wall. She was asking about the mass of flame in the sky. She was asking about Nezumi, currently running the sink in the bathroom, and why he had suddenly lost all control.

            And perhaps she was also asking the most burning question Shion had – why Nezumi had just as abruptly regained control again.

            _Suddenly I thought I’d lost you._

            “Maybe you are capable of it, but I personally cannot pretend that Nezumi did not almost kill you hardly a half hour ago,” Safu was saying, her voice a little louder now, a little harder.

            Shion felt his jaw clench. “You don’t understand.”

            “Do you?” Safu asked back, but then she was shaking her head, her eyebrows knitting, her confusion crossing into disbelief. “I know that you’re in love with him, and I understand the effect that such feelings of intense passion and devotion have on many areas of the brain, including a delusional trigger. But you are not blind, and I refuse to believe you have let this man make you stupid, Shion.”

            Shion felt hot. “He’s not just – ”

            “I may not love Nezumi like you do, but I do love him, and I do care about him. But you are my family, Shion – No, you are more that. You are my very best friend, you are the person I value most in this world, and I cannot tolerate the thought of your judgment being so corroded by emotion that you are willing to sacrifice yourself. If I ever think I will lose you again because of Nezumi, I will get rid of him. I promise you that,” Safu said, her voice hard, and Shion saw that her eyes were bright, watery, a tear slipping from them a second before Safu was whirling around, striding into her room, and slamming the door behind her.

            Shion was still staring at her closed door when the door beside it opened, and he shifted his gaze to watch Nezumi walk out of the bathroom.

            Nezumi gave no indication of having heard Safu, giving Shion an expressionless nod as he walked in the way of the living room, and Shion stared at his back for a moment before going into the bathroom himself.

            He wanted to shower. He felt covered in smoke. He felt remnants of the fire that had not come close enough to touch his skin on him nevertheless.

            But he was exhausted, and settled on washing his face and brushing his teeth. After he peed, he left the bathroom, found Nezumi lying on the sofa, and Shion joined him, ignoring the relief battering his chest once again because it had no reason to be there.

             There was no reason for relief when there was no reason for worry in the first place.

            Shion made sure to intertwine himself as much as possible with Nezumi, who did not protest, though he did not reach out to touch Shion himself until after Shion had settled against his chest. Only then did Nezumi reach out, his thumb light across Shion’s cheek and then falling off again.

            “Are you okay?” Nezumi asked, as if he was the one with the reason to ask such a question when it was all Shion wanted to ask of Nezumi.

            But Shion didn’t ask, because he knew Nezumi didn’t like questions, or maybe because he worried of what Nezumi would reply.

            “I’m with you,” Shion replied, the only truth he thought necessary – of course he was okay, of course he was.

            Nezumi’s blank expression shifted, a ripple as if it were a pond and Shion’s words a skidding stone, but then it was calm again, so quickly Shion couldn’t make out what the quick ripples had indicated of Nezumi’s feelings.

            “Goodnight, Shion,” Nezumi said quietly, and Shion pressed himself closer to Nezumi’s chest, shifted his arms tighter around Nezumi’s body that felt oddly stiff beneath him.

            “Goodnight, Nezumi,” he replied, though he had the urge to say something else, something more, something binding.

            Shion closed his eyes, fell asleep much more quickly than he’d expected, and when he woke again it was to shouts.

            This was not surprising. Shion woke to Nezumi’s shouts nightly.

            What was surprising was the voice in his ear.

            “Shion, Shion, wake up.”

            Shion opened his eyes to Safu’s concerned expression, blinked at his friend’s face in the dark.

            “You were shouting,” Safu was saying, a crease between her eyebrows. “It was only a nightmare.”

            Shion tilted his head. These were his lines. These were his words. These were his reassurances to Nezumi, and Shion turned, expecting to find Nezumi beside him on the couch, but there was no man beside him, looking shaken and pale from a nightmare.

            “What?” Shion asked, to the empty space beside him, then looked at Safu again. His confusion felt thick and heavy, like smoke. “What?”

            “You were shouting,” Safu said again, this time more slowly.          

            “I was?” Shion asked, pushing himself up from the couch cushions with his palms, looking around the living room.

            “Yes.”

            “But – Nezumi’s the one who has nightmares,” Shion corrected, though as he spoke he remembered that he had indeed been having a nightmare.

            He couldn’t remember much of it, as his consciousness was pushing all remnants of sleep away with increasing force. But he knew there’d been fire.

            Safu said nothing, and Shion stared at her for a moment, then looked around her again.

            “Where is he?” Shion asked, hearing the desperation in his own voice, but he already knew.

            Nezumi was gone.

*


	14. Chapter 14

Nezumi went to Karan’s bakery.

            Weeks before, Shion’s mother had given him a key, which Nezumi hadn’t understood, but he hadn’t argued either.

            Karan, he had known from the first time he’d met her, was not a woman who would allow argument.        

            Even so, she was a soft woman. Nezumi had liked her. Had felt an undeniable comfort with her, and knew that was where Shion must have gotten it.

            Nezumi opened the door of the bakery. Walked straight across the front room, past the tables where customers sat and the display counter with the register at the corner and the bell beside it and the sign that said _Please ring for assistance!_

            He walked through the small hallway into the kitchen where he had been only a few times, not knowing a thing about baking, not wanting to mess anything up.

            But he’d liked it all the same, being in here when Shion helped his mother, watching the two of them with aprons smudged with pie mix and flour coating the creases of their hands. He’d liked when Karan would correct Shion, or when she’d reach out and squeeze his wrist in a gentle gesture, or when she’d smile at him when he wasn’t even looking, when he wasn’t even doing anything but rolling out a pie crust.

            Nezumi had liked watching Karan and Shion because Karan was such a _mother_ , and Nezumi, without letting himself acknowledge it in any conscious way, missed his own.

            Maybe he’d thought, deep in his thoughts where he could pretend to deny it, that when he wasn’t looking, Karan might look at him with that same smile she offered Shion.

            But Karan was not his mother. And it was a foolish thought. And Nezumi didn’t think such thoughts anyway, because they required delusion and nostalgia, and those were dangerous things.

            Now, Nezumi stood in the middle of the kitchen and closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He didn’t know why he was here. It was one in the morning, and Nezumi doubted Shion had woken yet to notice him missing, and even if he had, the last place the man would look would be his mother’s bakery.

            But even so, Nezumi had no reason to be here. Couldn’t justify his own actions to himself, only that he’d been walking past the bakery, noticed it, turned and let himself in.

            Nezumi reached out. Slid his palm over the flat of the wooden counter where not a week before he’d watched Shion roll dough into a ball with the palm of his hand, where there’d been a pile of flour in the corner and Nezumi had reached out, stolen a pinch, thrown it at Shion’s face when the man wasn’t paying attention to him and received a lecture about not acting like a child – _You’re a grown man, aren’t you? –_ that Nezumi didn’t take seriously because Shion had been laughing through his lecture, and only a minute later threw a pinch of flour at Nezumi in turn.

            Nezumi, now, alone in the kitchen, bent over this counter that was wiped clean, his hands flat against it, palms pressing hard into the wood. His chest hurt, but his skin was not warm.

            He felt no hint of his fire but for his eyes that burned, and Nezumi blinked quickly, shook his head.

            _You’re a grown man, aren’t you?_

            Nezumi closed his eyes tight. He was not a kid any longer. Being alone was no longer something terrifying, was no longer something unfamiliar, was no longer something he could not endure.

            Being alone was all he needed, and wanting more was nothing but a feeling he could ignore, push down, refuse to acknowledge until it faded away completely.

*

Shion looked everywhere – the rooms of his apartment, the stairwell of the building, the back of  _Big Pizza_ with the permission of Nezumi’s boss, between shelves at the library, every table at every coffee shop, that bathrooms of restaurants, the alleyways between each building he passed on his search, the theater where Nezumi had once auditioned so long ago and gotten the role immediately, the lobby of the prison where Nezumi had been held against his will, the cells of this same prison after demanding the officers allow him to check each one, the expensive boutiques that Nezumi would drag him into only to look at price tags and laugh, a massage parlor, every bank, every adult store, every dance studio.

            Shion looked everywhere he thought Nezumi might be, and everywhere he knew Nezumi would not be. He checked every office of his own research facility. He went back home and looked in every room again, stopping at his own, staring at the charred walls and his burnt belongings as if by looking at the damage done to them he could conjure back the man who was responsible.

            But he couldn’t.

            Shion went last to his mother’s bakery, not to look for Nezumi, but because he wanted to see his mother, because he wanted to be surrounded by warmth and the smells of baked goods, because he wanted to stand in the kitchen and breathe in the flour and do nothing but feel some sort of ease at the familiarity of it all.

            His mother was talking to a customer when Shion walked in, and he waved but went straight to the kitchen, didn’t put on an apron but stood in front of the counter where chocolate chip cookies were lined up on a wire drying rack, fresh out of the oven.

            He pressed his palms to the counter on the sides of the drying rack and stood incredibly still, breathing and doing nothing more, and was in this same position when his mother said his name.

            “Shion?”

            Shion looked up. Opened his eyes that he hadn’t remembered closing, that he hadn’t remembered squeezing tight.

            His eyes were blurry, and he blinked quickly. “Nezumi’s missing,” Shion said, even though he’d meant to say, _Hi, Mom._

            His mother did not seem surprised at Shion’s words. She walked forward, in front of Shion, who took his hands from the counter and turned to face her. He watched wordlessly as his mother reached out and took his wrist, lifted his hand, then tucked her own hand in her pocket to pull out something that she dropped into his open palm.

            A key on a keyring.

            “What is this for?” Shion stared from the key to his mother.

            “The bakery.”

            Shion was completely bemused. “I have a key to the bakery.”

            “Yes. I found this key on this very same counter when I got to the bakery this morning.”

            Shion’s lips opened but he didn’t have anything to say. He curled his fingers over the key in his hand. His eyes were hot, but they didn’t burn, because Shion knew what it was to burn.

            His mother reached out, hugged Shion, and he didn’t protest but didn’t know how to hug her back at that moment, and then she was letting go of him, reaching around him for the drying rack of cookies and lifting it from the counter.

            “Stay as long as you need to, sweetheart. There’s a cherry pie by the sink that I received a cancelation for, you should have a slice. It’s fresh from this morning. I’ll be in the front if you need me.”

            Shion managed to nod, and then his mother was gone with the cookies, and he stood still for a moment before turning, seeing the pie by the sink.

            He walked over to it, took the entire pan to the counter and pulled the stool from underneath it and sat down, looking around and finding a mixing spoon in a bowl of cake batter.

            Shion reached for the spoon, licked it clean, then stuck it straight down into the center of the pie.

            He lifted it back. Stabbed it down again. Again. Again. Again.

            The pie was a mess, and Shion examined the ruins of it as he raised the spoon back to his lips, tasted the filling of the cherry pie, felt immediately transported back to his childhood.

            Shion was not a child anymore. He was an adult. He knew this.

            But he also knew that his chest hurt. Felt hollowed out.

            Shion stuck the spoon back into the broken pie. Scooped too big a mouthful and started eating, from the center of the pie out.

            He kept eating, even when his stomach felt bloated.

            He kept eating, even when he thought he would be sick.

            _You should eat more anyway, you’re too skinny._

            He kept eating, even when it hurt, but everything hurt, and he still felt hollow despite the strain on his stomach, so he kept eating, kept eating, kept eating until the pie was empty and he was jumping up, running to the sink, retching into it on top of an empty cupcake pan and two pie tins that needed to be washed.

            Shion vomited until there was nothing coming out at all anymore, he was just bent over the sink, his fingers digging into the sides of it, breathing hard in gasps that rushed out of his lungs like they were desperate to escape the cold of his chest.

            Shion hung his head. Felt his shoulders drop. Waited for his breaths to even out and kept breathing only because he did not know what else to do.

            He realized as he breathed that Nezumi’s key was no longer in his hand, and Shion did not know where he’d put it, but he did not care.

            It wasn’t the key that he ached for.

*

The beeper that the fire department had given him went off twenty-two days after Nezumi left the city.

            The sound of it from his pocket woke him, and Nezumi rolled over, disgruntled and confused before he woke enough to remember the source of the sound, to fish this source from his pocket and examine the thing.

            _Library on Fifth_

            Nezumi stared at the words, his shock surprising him.

            Of course a library could catch fire. That should not have been so startling to read. Nezumi should not have felt so winded.

            It was late. Nezumi couldn’t be certain of the exact time, but the dark of the sky suggested deep into the latest hours of the night or the earliest hours of the morning.

            It was summer still, and Nezumi was content to sleep outdoors. He liked to see the stars, unmasked by the pollution and smoke of cities.

            His mother had told him once that to see the stars was to see the past. That a star’s light took so long to travel that by the time it reached the people on earth, the star might not even have existed anymore.

            _When I close my eyes, I see the future. When I look at the stars, I see the past. Except for you, my bright star. When I look at you beside me, I see the beauty of the present. Remember that. As comforting as it is to look at the stars and think of the past, as hopeful as it is to look into the future, you must place your body and soul into where you stand at this moment, and only then will you know how wonderful life can be._

            Nezumi closed his eyes. Slipped the beeper – now quiet – back into his pocket. He focused on thinking only of this very moment, not the future, not the past, not anything else but the slight wind shifting his bangs over his forehead, cooling him in the mid-August heat.

*

A month and a half after Nezumi left, it was Shion’s birthday.

            He was turning twenty-seven.

            This felt, to him, much older than twenty-six, though he couldn’t name precisely why.

            His life, on this day, was exactly the same as it had been on his previous birthday. Even his birthday celebration was the same – an evening in his apartment with champagne and a cake his mother had baked, shared with his mother and Safu.

            What was different, Shion knew, was the feeling that someone was missing at this quiet celebration.

            But Nezumi was not missing. He was gone. And there was a difference in these two.

            To be missing, there had to be searching. But Shion was no longer searching for Nezumi.

            To be gone, there only had to be absence. And Shion felt that absence every second of every day, and at nights as well, when he’d started having nightmares.

            While Shion didn’t search for Nezumi, he still hoped for the man’s return.

            He still wished, with every fire on the news, for the last surviving FireMaster to appear as if out of thin air and save whomever may have been victim to the flames.

            He still dreamed, after every nightmare he endured, to find that the hand shaking him awake belonged to the man whose nightmares he used to wake from.

            He still waited, with every moment that passed, for Nezumi to come back to him, to this home that was Nezumi’s home, to this life that was Nezumi’s life, to this heart that was Nezumi’s, if only he would take it.

*

The winter months were not difficult because Nezumi had endured twenty winters on his own.

            He conjured small fires in his palms to press against the tops of his arms, to rub over his chest. He let fire rise right up against the underside of his skin as he walked outside, or took breaks in an alleyway, or laid in the shelters of abandoned buildings.

            He got jobs, seeking employers who were blind or elderly or clueless – unlikely to peer into his silver eyes and know who he was. He cut his hair to make himself less recognizable. He did not stay in one place for too long.

            It was a life he was familiar with, an existence that accepted him back easily.

            It was surviving, and that was what Nezumi did best.

*

Shion felt himself changing with the seasons.

            Hopeful in the summer.

            Anxious in the fall.

            Desolate in the winter.

            Angry in the spring.

            A year after Nezumi left, Shion’s anger faded into hardly anything at all.

            And while the seasons continued to change, Shion did not. He was not a calendar, after all. He was not a planet, tilted on its axis, revolving around a bright star.

            He was just a human being, with a heart that had swollen, shrunk, bruised, and broken, and Shion was tired of waiting.

            He was tired of thinking about Nezumi endlessly. Of the nightmares. Of his life on hold to accommodate for a man who might never return. Of the _missing_ , the ache that carved so deeply inside of him he didn’t know how he would ever be rid of it.

            But over time, the ache did lessen. Until it was barely noticeable. Until there was nothing there at all.

*

A little over two years after leaving the city, Nezumi still had the fire department’s beeper.

            It went off every once in a while, and Nezumi always read the alerts, though he was much too far to respond, much too far to save anyone.

            The alerts, more or less, sounded every few weeks. Occasionally there were two fires within a week, but more often than that there wouldn’t be two fires inside a month.

            Until suddenly they started coming in daily. Two in a row, and Nezumi chalked it up to coincidence. On the third day, he paid attention to the words on the beeper.

            The previous two had been – _Parking garage on Seventh_ and _Lulu’s coffee shop on Sixth._

            Today’s read – _Movie theater on Third._

            No discernable pattern Nezumi could make out, and he pocketed the beeper, decided not to think about it.

            The fourth day, Nezumi read, _Diner on corner of Third_ , and decided it was time to move again. Nezumi was constantly moving every few weeks, so to do so again would have meant nothing, really, but that the direction of his move happened to be in the way of the city.

            Even so, Nezumi was not planning on tending to any fires. He wouldn’t even be able to get to the city for another week if he kept journeying on foot. He didn’t want to go to the city anyway, he didn’t want to have anything to do with these fires.

            Nezumi didn’t even know why he still had this beeper, but all the same, he pocketed it again. For the following week and a half, he received an alert every single day until he had camped just outside the city, in view of the tallest skyscrapers that he recognized even after all this time.

            _Theater on Eighth._

            Nezumi stared at the beeper as it went off. This was the same theater where he’d auditioned years before, and Nezumi knew if he ran, he could get there to help, if help was still needed.

            But Nezumi did not enter the city. Stayed where he was, reading his beeper every time it went off, thinking with each one that if there was another tomorrow, he would interfere, next time, next time, next time.

*

_The arsonist hit the theater. No casualties, but the building is ruined._

            Shion read Safu’s text twice, then looked back out the window of the train, noticed that the scenery rushing by seemed to be slowing, and after a minute, the train was stopping completely.

            Shion stood up. Got off the train. Stood on the platform and watched the train rush away from him, then turned and walked until he reached the woods.

            He did not know how to get to the FireMaster’s village on his own. He had thought, on entering the trees, that he might remember, but realized quickly that he’d been mistaken.

            The day Nezumi had brought him, over two years before, Shion had been so preoccupied with the questions he’d been stopping himself from asking Nezumi that he hadn’t paid attention to the steps Nezumi had been taking.

            Shion stood very still, a foot into the woods. He closed his eyes and breathed in the clean, smokeless air.

            It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to think so deliberately about Nezumi. For months, his only thoughts on the man had been unconscious, unwilling, accidental, out of his control.

            But since the fires began two weeks before, curtesy of an unknown arsonist plaguing the city, Shion couldn’t stop thinking about the last surviving FireMaster.

            Where Nezumi might be. How he might be doing. Who was in his life now, if there was anyone, or if he was alone – Shion did not know which would be worse.

            He hadn’t meant to get on a train to the FireMaster’s village that morning. He’d meant to go to work, but he’d gotten on the wrong train, and Shion knew this must have been a conscious decision, but it felt like an accident.

            Standing here, in the woods surrounding the FireMaster’s village, felt like an accident.

            A mistake. Shion had no right to be here. It was the FireMaster’s village, a sacred place, and Shion felt wrong, suddenly, on coming here without the permission of a FireMaster.

            Without the permission of Nezumi.

            Shion opened his eyes. He wiped at his cheeks and shook his head, inwardly demanding his tears to stop. Shion didn’t cry over Nezumi, not anymore, and if he did it was only at nights when he could not help it. He turned around and began the walk back to the train station. The next train wouldn’t come by for hours, but Shion would wait for it.

            He was good at waiting.

*

On the first day of September, it was late afternoon when Nezumi checked his beeper as it went off for the sixteenth consecutive day in a row.

            _Entire street of residential houses on corner of Sixth. Over 30 residents trapped._

            This was not the usual alert, and Nezumi read it twice, then abandoned the apples he’d been picking and did not think twice as he ran into the city, stopping at the first building – some sort of coffee shop – and skipping the line straight to the register.

            “Excuse me, sir, you’ll need to – Oh – ”

            “Give me your phone,” Nezumi said, knowing he was recognized, and the girl at the register stared at him from beneath her cap.

            “I – I don’t – ”

            “An entire street of houses is on fire! It’s on the news!” This was not Nezumi, but a man in line behind him who shouted, and then a woman with the same cap as the girl behind the register walked over from the other end of the counter and handed Nezumi a cellphone.

            “Take mine,” she offered, and Nezumi took it, called the fire department.

            “This is the emergency services department for fires and – ”

            “It’s Nezumi. Pick me up, I’m at – ” Nezumi looked around him, unsure where he was.

            “Bagels and Brew,” the girl behind the register piped up. “On first.”

            “Bagels and Brew on first,” Nezumi repeated slowly. “Get me to the fires as fast as possible. Now.”

            Nezumi hung up, shoved the phone back at the woman, and left the shop. He waited outside, trying to think of nothing, and not a minute later he heard the familiar sirens of a firetruck barreling closer.

            “Welcome back,” the firefighter said, as Nezumi jumped in beside him, and Nezumi didn’t reply, buckling his seatbelt and staring out the window.

            He had never wanted to come back. He had never planned on it.

            He was already itching to leave, terrified of how _right_ it felt to be back.

*

Shion had the news on, but was not watching it.

            He was sitting on the couch, looking over plans for a water purifying initiative that would be more accessible to lesser income areas, but looked up on the word _FireMaster._

            Shion dropped his papers. He stood up. There was a man was on the television screen, standing in the center of a residential street that was completely aflame. Every house visible in the video footage – marked _LIVE_ in the corner of the screen – was on fire, houses lining both sides of the street where the man stood. From the roofs of these houses, fire erupted and spilled out in arches towards this man, forming a canopy of flame above him. Down from this canopy poured a single stream of fire that connected the mass of flame to the man’s hands, which were lifted just above his head and cupped.

            There was a firefighter’s respiration facemask over the man’s head, but Shion knew, of course, who it was, pulling the fire from two rows of houses into a fountain that fell right into his palms.

            “The last surviving FireMaster has returned, a hero to this city, to save us from the latest of the unknown arsonist’s attacks, this time a dozen residential houses, eleven of which have occupants. Firefighters are working to get every family safely out of the twelve burning houses, and thus far there have been no casualties. Nine adults and seven children have been rescued at this time, along with one newborn baby girl, born just two weeks ago. On the very street where the FireMaster and our city fire department are working to save the rest of the residents, we go to Yuko with another update – ”

            “Thanks, Manami. Behind me, as you can see, is Nezumi himself, returned to the city after over two years. The last time we saw our beloved FireMaster, as you may remember, was his rescue of Kyoto Jin, sous-chef of the just-opened French-style cuisine restaurant in late July of – ”

            Shion turned off the television. Felt frozen in the silence that resulted, a humming, heavy silence that almost hurt. He stood with his skin prickling for a minute, maybe two, then dropped the remote, walked to his front door, shoved on his shoes, and left his apartment.

            His heartbeat felt thick in his ears, and Shion gasped at the fresh air, feeling as if he’d been holding his breath for years.

*

Nezumi pulled the respiration mask off his head and did not know what to do with it.

            He wanted to leave. The fires were out and firefighters were still running in and out of buildings, carrying residents, but Nezumi had nothing to do with this part.

            He looked at the mask in his hands, handed to him by the driver of the truck that had taken Nezumi to the fire.

            “For the smoke,” the firefighter had said, and Nezumi had pulled it on as he’d run into the middle of the street and began to call the fire to him, fire that had surrounded him on all sides, bright and lively.

            Now, Nezumi lifted his free hand up, wiped his bangs from his forehead with the back of his wrist and felt his hair stick to his skin with sweat.

            Nezumi was debating whether or not to simply drop the mask on the street – someone would surely see it – when he noticed a news truck and realized if he didn’t leave soon, he was going to be interviewed.

            Nezumi did not want to be on the news. He did not want to be seen by the people of this city. He did not want to be seen by everyone with a television. He did not want to be seen by –

            “Shion.” The name left his lips before Nezumi gave himself permission to say it.

            There was Shion, standing on a sidewalk. There were many people standing on the sidewalk, but Shion stood a little apart from them, and even though it was dark now, Shion’s hair was bright white and noticeable – the guy always had been noticeable.

            Nezumi felt a little winded. Had just consumed a large quantity of fire, was exhausted from that, reminded himself of these facts, but knew all the same – fire could never do to him what this man could, could not empty his lungs the way this man could.

            Nezumi stepped forward. Dropped the respirator mask, heard the dull thud of it on the street in a muffled way. Kept walking, and then he was a few feet from Shion, and he was aware of other people trying to talk to him, yelling for his attention, but he didn’t really care about them at all.

            Shion was looking at him, saying nothing. Nezumi couldn’t read his expression, but it was darker out now, and Nezumi was tired, and his bangs fell into his eyes, clumped with his own sweat.

            He lifted a hand, pushed his bangs up again, felt them slick back.

            “Hey,” Nezumi said, to say something. He swallowed. His throat felt dry. He’d been surrounded by smoke. What good were those respirator masks anyway?

            Shion nodded. “I’m glad those people are safe.”

            Nezumi stared. Didn’t understand the evenness of Shion’s voice. Didn’t understand Shion’s words either.

            _What people?_

            It took him a moment to remember the burning houses. The lives within them. The firefighters running out with people in their arms.

            Nezumi opened his mouth. Wanted to say something more. Wanted to step forward again, closer to this man he hadn’t seen in two years, but time felt strange and this measurement inapplicable.

            He’d only known Shion for months of his life, time gone in a blink of an eye, but looking back, this time with Shion felt like an entire life Nezumi had lived. The years since Nezumi had been gone from Shion had dragged by, but now, in the wake of them, Nezumi couldn’t be certain they’d existed at all.

            Couldn’t be certain he’d ever left this city. Couldn’t be certain he’d ever spent a moment away from this man.

            But Shion had changed. Nezumi could see this clearly. Could not name the ways in which Shion had changed, but there was change in him.

            Or maybe the change was outside of Shion. The change was the distance between Shion and Nezumi, the change was the stiffness of Shion’s nod, the formality of his expression, the way Shion looked at him like he hardly recognized him at all, and Nezumi wondered for a moment what he looked like, if maybe he looked completely different.

            “I’m happy you’re safe too,” Shion added, as if an afterthought, but he did not look happy at all.

            He looked blank. Indifferent. It took Nezumi a moment to come to this conclusion, and when he did, his chest squeezed in a hot, abrupt way.

            Nezumi opened his lips. Wanted to say something, felt words in him and didn’t know what they were, but wanted them out. “Shion – ”

            “I should be getting back home,” Shion said.

            People were calling Nezumi’s name. Nezumi was aware of this. He was being asked for an interview. There were people around him. Wanted comments. Had questions.

            It was easy, to lose them. To close his senses to these other people, these other words. To see Shion and only Shion, after so long here was Shion, and he looked different, but that wasn’t right at all.

            Shion looked the same. It was the way he looked at Nezumi that was different.

            Nezumi managed to nod. He was tired and it was late and everything he was feeling – the heaviness, the crushing weight he was feeling – was a result of that, and nothing more.

            “Okay. Right,” Nezumi said, then cleared his throat, and then Shion was turning, walking away from him, but he was walking the wrong way, and Nezumi stepped forward, couldn’t help himself. “Hey, Shion.”

            Shion turned, just his head. Looked at Nezumi the wrong way, this was not the way Shion looked at him, this was not the way Shion looked at anyone.

            Shion, full of passion and feeling and too many emotions. Shion, who didn’t know how to calm himself down, didn’t know how to subdue himself, didn’t want to because he prided himself in his ridiculous and stubborn outpourings of empathy and sentiment.

            This was not the right Shion, but Nezumi would take him, because this was Shion, _this was Shion_ , and the two years it had been felt like thousands of lives Nezumi had been forced to endure to get back to this man.

            “Your apartment is that way,” Nezumi said, pointing in the opposite direction from where Shion was walking, pointing in the direction of the apartment where Nezumi had slept so many nights beside Shion, enough nights to forget how to sleep on his own.

            Shion tilted his head. The blank of his expression finally gave way to brief emotion in the crease between his eyebrows – confusion. “I moved,” he finally said, in a way that suggested it was obvious, of course he didn’t still live in that apartment they’d shared.

            Of course he’d moved. Of course he’d moved on.

            Nezumi thought about replying, but he wasn’t given a chance to, as Shion had turned back and was walking away again.

            Nezumi did not call out to him because he had nothing to say, and even if he did, he had no right to say it.

*


	15. Chapter 15

Shion met up with Safu at a coffee shop on her university’s campus as he did every Wednesday after work.

            It was odd, not living with his friend anymore, but Shion was getting used to having an apartment to himself.

            Safu was not at the café when Shion walked in, so he ordered for both of them and took their coffees to a table by the window, sitting down just as Safu ran in, her eyes sweeping the tables.

            “Safu, hey,” Shion called, waving, and Safu saw him and came over.

            “Sorry – Oh, thanks for the coffee – a student had a question after class that turned into a discussion on his entire thesis, I reminded him of my office hours of course but he says he works at the – Wait, why are you letting me go on like this, you’ve seen the news, right?” Safu asked abruptly, interrupting herself and looking at Shion with renewed attention.

            Shion drummed his fingers on the side of his paper coffee cup. “Are you talking about Nezumi?” he finally asked.

            Safu leaned forward. “Of course I’m talking Nezumi. I called you last night, but you didn’t pick up.”

            Shion took a sip of coffee, but it was too hot and burned his tongue. “Sorry.”

            “You don’t need to apologize. Are you all right?”

            Shion picked at the edge of his cup. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s been two years, Safu. It’s about time he came back, really, I was wondering if he was really going to let the arsonist keep getting away with damaging so much property and putting lives in danger – ”

            “I’m not talking about the potential victims of fires in the city he abandoned, Shion. I’m talking about you,” Safu said, her eyes slipping between Shion’s as if she were examining him.

            “We don’t need to talk about me. There’s nothing to talk about.”

            Safu didn’t quite hide her skeptical look. “Will you try to talk to him? I’m sure he’ll stick around in the city, at least until they find the arsonist and stop the daily fires.”

            “I don’t need to talk to him. I have nothing to say to him,” Shion replied, picking up his coffee cup again, blowing across the top of it.

            “Don’t you at least want to see him?” Safu pressed, leaning forward again.

            Shion sighed into his coffee. “I did see him.”

            Safu was silent for a moment. “You – You saw him? The news doesn’t count, Shion, you have to – ”

            Shion replaced his coffee cup on the table once more, straightened up to look at his friend. “Last night. I went to the fires after they’d been extinguished. He was still there. I saw him.”

            Safu blinked. “Oh. Did he see you?”

            Shion exhaled hard, felt almost like laughing. He was nearly twenty-nine years old, and the conversation – going over every minute detail of seeing Nezumi again – felt painfully childish.

            “He said hi. I told him I was glad he was safe. That was it. I left.”

            “That was it,” Safu echoed, watching Shion almost warily, and he wanted to shake her.

            To tell her he didn’t care anymore. Couldn’t she see that? Safu, who could read everyone so easily, who was an expert in psychoanalysis, couldn’t she see it no longer mattered?

            “I’m glad he’s helping the city deal with the arsonist’s attacks, Safu,” Shion said, speaking slowly, needing his friend to understand. “But I have nothing to do with him anymore. I loved him a lot, I know that, of course I remember that, you don’t need to remind me of that. But that was a long time ago. A lot has changed.”

            Safu continued to assess him, then her gaze softened, and she nodded. “Yes. A lot has changed,” she agreed quietly.

            Shion rose his coffee to his lips, took another sip. It was not quite cool enough to drink yet, but Shion didn’t mind the sharp pinch of heat bruising his skin.

*

For the next week, Nezumi was putting out fires daily. He had no idea why the police were so terrible at catching this arsonist, but law enforcement wasn’t really his business.

            When Nezumi wasn’t putting out fires, he was avoiding the press and tailing Safu. He was in the middle of the latter when Safu caught him, turning her head just as Nezumi was about to duck back into the open door of the used bookshop beside him.

            Safu stared at him for a long moment, then turned back around and continued walking as she had been, and Nezumi hesitated for only a second before running to catch up with her.

            Neither of them spoke for a full block as they walked beside each other – Safu was heading to her apartment, Nezumi knew, from a route he’d tailed her on before – until Nezumi noticed the wrapped present sticking out of Safu’s messenger bag.

            “Is it your birthday?” he asked, in an attempt to be cordial.

            He realized he didn’t know what day it was at all. Late summer, he thought. People, such as the newscasters who insisted on interviewing him and the firefighters he worked with, kept telling him they hadn’t seen him in over two years. That made it around –

            “It’s Shion’s,” Safu said, sounding surprised and stopping walking.

            Nezumi stopped as well, watched Safu blink at him.

            “Oh,” Nezumi said. He hadn’t known this. He wondered if he was supposed to tell Safu to tell Shion happy birthday from him, and was about to do so when Safu’s expression shifted abruptly from surprise into anger.

            “I’m not making small talk with you,” she snapped, immediately walking again, and Nezumi had to quicken his pace to keep up with her.

            “That’s fine, I don’t much like – ”

            “You didn’t even leave him a note!” Safu interrupted roughly, and Nezumi almost tripped, managed to right himself.

            He pushed his bangs from his eyes. Safu had not slowed, had not looked at him as she’d spoken.

            “And what would I have written in this note?” Nezumi demanded, as if he had a right to defend himself, and maybe he did, he thought he did. “He knew why I left, I don’t think reminding him of nearly having just killed him in some fancy cursive font with hearts over the i’s would have made a difference, do you?”

            Safu glanced at him quickly, looked away again and walked even faster so that they were nearly jogging.

            Nezumi was certain they must look ridiculous. Safu’s messenger bag was hitting her hip with each step.

            “Why have you been following me? Why aren’t you following him?” Safu asked, her voice sharp.

            They turned the corner, and Nezumi wanted to reach out, grab her arm, make her stop and speak to him, have a conversation like they used to – it had been so long since Nezumi’d had a real conversation with anyone.

            He didn’t reach out. He didn’t dare touch her.

            “Would you rather I did that?” he asked.

            “I’d rather you left just as suddenly as you did before.”

            “I had to leave. I heard you, what you said to him that night, I know you understand that. You felt the same way I did. I would have killed him,” Nezumi snapped, angry at Safu for being angry with him when she knew he’d had to leave, she knew it.

            “So why are you back then?” Safu asked, and they were nearly at her building now, a different one than where she and Shion had lived before, a different one than where Shion lived now.

            “I still have the beeper from the fire department, I kept getting – ”

            “If you’re only here about the arsonist’s fires, I don’t see what business you have following me around.”

            At this, Nezumi stopped walking.

            He wasn’t about to explain to Safu what it was like to live alone the way he had for most of his life. He wasn’t about to explain to this woman how it felt, to learn what it was to have company, to have people in his life, for even only a few months, and then to go back to a solitary existence that had not felt so lonely beforehand.

            He was not about to tell Safu that he wanted to see how Shion was doing, but was terrified of it, terrified of the life Shion lived now, the life Shion had built in the absence of him, the life Nezumi had forced Shion to build, and Nezumi knew it was his fault, he knew he was the one who’d left, he knew Shion had to move on, but he didn’t have to want to see that, he didn’t want to have to witness it, the indifference Shion had towards the months that Nezumi had shared with him, the only months Nezumi cared about in his own life, the very months that felt like a lifetime to him.

            But Nezumi hadn’t wanted to be alone in this city either, and so to follow Safu, to act as if it were reconnaissance but really to just see her, remind himself of her, this person who’d used to be a part of his life and he of hers – that was all Nezumi could do, and he didn’t know how to explain this to Safu, didn’t want to explain it to her, didn’t even want to explain it to himself.          

            Safu seemed to notice Nezumi was no longer beside her when she reached the door of her apartment and looked back, caught Nezumi still on the sidewalk.

            When she looked at him, she didn’t seem angry. She looked a little sad, and Nezumi couldn’t stand that.

            “They’ll catch the serial arsonist, and the fires will stop. What will you do then?” Safu asked, no longer in a biting way, but in a way Nezumi didn’t care to identify.

            He looked away from her. Down the street that was mostly empty now. The sky was changing shades, had been bright blue all day but had a burnt orange tint to it now.

            “I hadn’t thought that far,” he finally said, but he didn’t have to think that far.

            He’d leave. Of course he would.

            “Nezumi.”

            Nezumi looked at her. Watched Safu tuck her hair behind her ears. She’d let it grow out a little from its previous bob, and it flickered against her the shoulders of her blazer in the breeze.

            “If it were anyone but Shion, I’d want you to take the chance. To take the risk. I hate that you have to be alone. I don’t want you to be unhappy.” Safu took a step forward, then seemed to reconsider, stepped back again and shook her head. She exhaled hard. “But it’s Shion,” she added, almost helplessly.

            Nezumi nodded. He had never been angry with Safu, for wanting the best for Shion. For wanting to keep Shion safe.

            He’d always understood that. He’d always agreed with her.

            “I’ll tell him happy birthday from you,” Safu said, after they stood in silence for a minute, pushing back against the breeze that tried to move them.

            Nezumi stepped away from her. “Better not. Don’t want to ruin his day. Take care, Safu.”

            Nezumi turned away completely then, began his walk away from the building, had nowhere in particular to go, but he knew his beeper would go off soon – it normally did in the afternoons – and he’d be allowed the distraction of a fire, a reminder of why he was back in this city again at all.

            “You too, Nezumi,” Nezumi thought he heard from behind him, but he couldn’t be sure, as the words were so soft and the breeze seemed to blow them away the second they grazed his ears.

*

Shion saw the note on his twenty-ninth birthday, when he got back from Safu’s, a little tipsy but not drunk.          

            Even so, at first he thought he was imagining the note on the floor just inside his front door, and he stooped to pick it up, bracing himself against the door he closed behind him, expecting his fingers to graze on carpet.

            It wasn’t imaginary. It was there, and Shion lifted it, leaned back against his closed door and read it, having to attempt the read twice as the first time his eyes simply glazed over the words without deciphering them.

            _I’m staying in the fire department, they’ve given me a room for while I’m here, one of the bunks on the top floor where they’ve got beds for overnight shifters. I know you don’t, but if you ever want to talk, that’s where you’ll find me. I figure it’s only fair if I know where you’re living, you know where I am._

_Happy birthday._

_N_

            Shion read the note again, felt the buzz of his champagne weighing more heavily on his shoulders.

            He folded the piece of paper once, then twice, then again, then went over to his trash under the sink and dropped it in.

            He left the kitchen, stripped his clothing, put on sweats and had his t-shirt halfway on – over his head and through one arm but not yet the other – when he left his room again, went back to the kitchen, pulled on his t-shirt fully before digging back in the trash and unearthing the note.

            He turned on the stove and tossed the note into the gas, watching it curl and char immediately, as if it were a living thing curling in on itself to shy away from the flame.

            Shion watched it, wary of a fire spreading, but soon the note was disintegrated fully, and Shion turned off the stove before returning to his room, to his bed where he slept alone most nights, though he didn’t mind it.

            He had blankets, and central heat, and he was perfectly warm every night.

*

The police had a lead on the arsonist.

            A firefighter informed Nezumi of this after he put out a fire two days after Shion’s birthday at a tiny closed-down boutique around the corner from the theater.

            “Great,” Nezumi replied.

            “Some teenage kid. A guy with a short record. You gonna stick around when the guy is caught? We still get fires, you know.”

            Nezumi shrugged, offered the respirator mask back to the firefighter, but the man shook his head.

            “Keep it. Don’t know why the chief hasn’t given you your own yet, must have slipped his mind. I’ll talk to him, but until then, you can hold onto that one. Easier than having to borrow one each time we get a call.”

            Nezumi rested it on his lap, buckled his seatbelt while the firefighter put the truck in gear. He was the same firefighter who’d driven Nezumi from the coffee shop to the residential fires his first day back in the city. He’d told Nezumi his name, but Nezumi couldn’t remember it.

            “You don’t say much, do you?” the guy asked, giving Nezumi an easygoing smile.

            Nezumi leaned his head back against the headrest. “Guess not.”

            The firefighter laughed, then sobered again, glanced at Nezumi before looking back at the road. “Hey. Look. Back then, when you first came to the city and there was all that controversy – Maybe it doesn’t matter to you, but it matters to me, to get it off my chest, you know?”

            Nezumi stared out the front window. He had no idea what the firefighter was talking about.

            “Anyway, ah. I was of the opinion – well, I never held a picket sign or said anything about it, really, it was more my mindset, but still, I was one of them who thought, you know, a guy who can make fire, who’s throwing it around the street the way you were – Ah, you know, I thought it was all right when the NPA took you in, that’s all. Wanted to apologize for that. I got this thing with fire, well I guess we all do, being on the crew. It had me thinking you were bad news.” The firefighter paused, then added, “Sorry about that.”

            Nezumi did not care what this firefighter had thought of him. But he’d been receiving apologies from strangers on the street since he’d come back to the city, and he resorted to his usual response.

            He turned to the firefighter, waited for him to glance away from the road again, and smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

            The firefighter looked at him a moment, didn’t do the relieved exhale that Nezumi got from most people, and turned back to the road.

            “Don’t think I ever seen you smile before,” he finally said, and Nezumi pushed his bangs from his eyes.

            He had nothing to say to that.

            “Something creepy about it,” the firefighter added, and at this, Nezumi stared at him, then started laughing, unable to help himself.

            The firefighter looked at him, then laughed too, offering a sheepish smile.

            “Sorry. The wife tells me I’m too blunt.”

            Nezumi just shook his head, unable to stop laughing. His chest hurt from it. He felt something squeeze inside of him, at this unexpected release of emotion, and all at once his eyes were burning, and he raised his palms, pushed them against his closed eyelids, curled inward and pressed his elbows hard against his knees.

            He was no longer laughing. Nothing had been funny to begin with. He breathed hard and willed his eyes to stop burning, kept his eyelids shut so as not to let out any of the wetness he felt pressing against them.

            As he tried to catch his breath, he felt his shoulder being touched and then squeezed and realized it was the hand of the firefighter beside him. An attempt at comfort.

            The first time Nezumi had been touched in over two years.

            Nezumi allowed this touch for half a minute, then straightened back up, leaned an inch closer to the window and felt the hand fall from his shoulder.

            The inside of the truck was quiet for a moment, and then the firefighter reached out, turned on the radio, and Nezumi sat back in his seat again, stared out the window at the city buildings blurring by, and waited for the spot of warmth on his shoulder to fade.

*

The arsonist was in love with Nezumi.

            He left a note for Nezumi, taped it on the door of the restaurant beside the bank where he’d started his latest fire.

            Shion read the note in the newspaper the next day, as a photograph of it coated the front page.

            _Dearest Nezumi –_

_I am so happy you came back to attend to my fires. That is why I started them, to bring you back to me. You light up my life, and I only want to light up yours. No one has been hurt because I knew you would save them. Do you feel me in my fires, like my skin is pressed to yours, like these are my lips on yours? I hope so. I burn for you, sweet firemaster, be my master, be mine. xxx_

            Shion found the note a little childish. He guessed it was written by some smitten teenager attempting to be poetic.

            He wondered what Nezumi made of it. He hoped Nezumi didn’t blame himself for these fires because they were being lit – apparently – for him.

            Nezumi had been in the city putting out fires for a week and a half now. Shion had only seen him the first night, and was glad for this.

            He had no interest in seeing Nezumi again. It was not particularly helpful that since Nezumi came back, he was on the news nightly, he was a constant talking point with Shion’s colleagues, he was in the newspaper, he was everywhere.

            There was a chance, Shion knew, that he would have to coexist with Nezumi in this city. There was a chance that Nezumi would stay even after this love-struck arsonist was caught. There was a chance he would run into Nezumi in the market, or at the movies, or at the library.

            Shion folded his newspaper in half to hide the note, placed it on his counter, and chugged the rest of his coffee before leaving his mug in the sink and grabbing his briefcase.

            He was going to miss his train for work if he didn’t leave soon, and he wanted to get in early so he could leave a little early as well to get to his mother’s bakery before the afternoon rush.

            He’d started going to the bakery after work regularly, preferring the bustling kitchen over the emptiness of his apartment.

*

“Your secret admirer hit the bakery on sixth, let’s go.”

            Nezumi looked up from the book he was reading on his bunk. “The bakery on sixth?” he asked, certain he had heard incorrectly, but the doorway of the bunkroom was empty.

            Nezumi leaped off his bed, shoved his feet in his boots by the edge of it, and ran down the hall, taking the stairs down to the garage because he refused to use the pole.

            The firefighter he always rode with was just turning the keys in the ignition when Nezumi climbed into his seat, slamming the door behind him.

            “Did you say the bakery on sixth?” Nezumi asked again, as the sirens started blaring and the lights flashed in Nezumi’s peripherals.

            The firefighter put the truck in drive and barreled out of the garage and onto the street.

            “You bet.”

            “Is anyone in there?”

            The firefighter glanced at Nezumi, then unhooked the dispatch radio from its place on the dashboard. “Chief, you got Satoshi here. Nezumi’s on his way and wants to know – Anyone in there? Over.”

            There was static, and then, “Can’t say yet. Definitely occupants, count undefined. Over.”

            “Keep us posted. Over,” the firefighter – Satoshi, apparently – said, then replaced the dispatch radio.

            Satoshi glanced at Nezumi, then looked back at the road again, seemed to press harder on the gas because they were going faster than usual, weaving through cars sharply in a way that almost seemed to have the truck tipping over.

            Nezumi stared out the window of the truck. Usually he thought that the sirens were too loud in his ears, but now he could barely hear them.

            When they were a block from the bakery, Nezumi turned to Satoshi.

            “Hey.”

            Satoshi looked at him. “Yeah?”

            The truck skidded to a halt in front of the bakery. Nezumi could see that the roof of it was on fire. He was trying to unbuckle his seatbelt, but the thing was jammed, and Nezumi pulled at it hard as he spoke. “You see a guy with white hair in there, you get him out first.”

            “Shion. The water guy. He brought clean water back to the entire country a few years back. Was a hero for some time. You used him as a hostage to get out of the city jail,” Satoshi was saying, but Nezumi only caught some of the words, didn’t really care what he was saying, needed to get out of the damn truck.

            Nezumi yanked at his seatbelt. “Shit!”

            “Move,” Satoshi said quickly, pushing Nezumi’s hands away and unbuckling the belt with a quick click. “That’s Shion, right? You know him.”

            Nezumi had thrown his door open, but glanced back, made sure to meet Satoshi’s eyes. “Get him out. He’ll fight you to save everyone else first, but you get him out.”

            Satoshi didn’t even blink. “I’ll get him out.”

            Nezumi turned, jumped out of the truck, pushed through the small crowd, stopped in front of the bakery, and was already pushing the fire up, not towards him but out of the bakery from the roof of it. He’d worry about consuming it later; he just wanted it away from the bakery and shoved it up into the sky until it billowed there.

            He wanted to look around him. At the firefighters running into the bakery, carrying occupants out. At the people on the street who’d managed to run out of the bakery in time. At the people being held back by police officers because they knew others in the bakery and were trying to get inside to save them.

            Nezumi looked at none of them. Stared only at the fire that he pushed up into the sky, more of it and more of it, realized he’d forgotten his respirator mask on his bunk but didn’t care one bit, he’d inhale all the smoke in the building to get it away from the one man who might be trapped inside it.

*

Shion was not in the bakery.

            He had left to take out the trash and was about to enter again when he was pushed by a man running out of it.

            “Fire!” the man was shouting, and Shion had stared at him, then tried to get in again, but now people were pouring out, and then the fire had spread to block the doorway, and Shion could not get in at all.

            Then there was a firefighter beside Shion, telling him to stand back, and Shion acquiesced only so that she would let go of him, and then he ran forward again because his mother was in there and he was not losing her, he was not losing her.

            Shion was trying to figure out a way back in when he was grabbed again, by another firefighter this time, a tall man with a strong grip.

            “Shion.”

            Shion turned, expecting to recognize the man who held onto his arm, but he didn’t know who he was looking at.

            “I gotta get you away from this building, sir,” the firefighter said.

            “My mother is in there.”

            “That’s no problem, sir, I’m positive one of my crew will get her out, but it’s my job to make sure you’re safe out here.”  

            Shion fought against the grip around his arm. “I need to – ”

            “Sir, please do not protest. I have strict instructions to get you away from this fire.”

            Shion shook his head. He didn’t know what this guy was talking about. He didn’t care. He was safe, he was outside, he was fine, but his mother, his mother –

            “Let go of me!” Shion shouted, pushing against the firefighter. “Go save her, get in there, she’s the baker, she’ll be in the kitchen in the back, she’ll be all the way in the back, I have to – ”

            “Listen, hey, sir – Shion! Shion, stop!” the firefighter shouted, and Shion stopped pushing him. “I’ll get your mother if you stay out here. You stay out here, and I’ll go in the back, I’ll check the kitchens, I’ll check everywhere to get your mother out. But you stay here. We have a deal?”

            Shion stared at the man. Couldn’t think, didn’t understand the man’s familiarity with him when Shion didn’t know him at all, but it didn’t matter, none of that mattered.

            He let his body go limp. “Her name is Karan. Please – Please find her,” he said, and it came out as a whisper, and Shion reached out without knowing why, dropped his hand before he could touch the firefighter.

            The firefighter nodded, and then he was letting go of Shion and running into the bakery, glancing back over his shoulder to shout, “You stay there!” before turning back again, disappearing into the doorway.

            Shion stared up at the bakery. His childhood. His mother’s livelihood. He noticed that there was a cloud of fire in the sky above it and stepped back to get a better view, saw that the fire was being pulled out from the roof and the upper windows into the sky.

            He turned away from the fire, looked around, and there was Nezumi, standing in front of the bakery and staring up at the fire with his arms outstretched and palms spread out away from him, as if he was pushing something, and Shion knew Nezumi didn’t need to lift a finger to move fire, but the man looked as if he was straining his entire body.

            Shion thought he understood the firefighter who’d been so insistent with him now. Thought he could figure out who exactly had given those instructions to get him out safely.

            It almost made him angry, that Nezumi thought he could save Shion when Shion didn’t need saving.

            He didn’t need to be taken care of, not by this man who had hurt him so easily, so carelessly, so thoroughly, who came back and thought he could make everything right.

            It almost made Shion angry, but he had no room for anger when his worry filled him so fully he thought he would be sick. It almost made Shion angry, but more than that he wanted to go to Nezumi, to tell him he believed in him, to tell Nezumi anything he had to that would make Nezumi lift this fire faster, save his mother faster.

*

After Nezumi finished moving all of the fire out from the bakery, he didn’t consume it.

            He walked away from the bakery, keeping an eye on the fire in the sky, not looking at anyone around him, ignoring the news casters and the police telling the news casters to give him space and the firefighters telling the news casters that he was working and if they wanted a cloud of fire getting dropped all over the street on their hands then they should go ahead and keep shoving their microphones at him.

            Nezumi did not pay these people attention, did not pay attention to the ambulances and the nurses and the EMTs and the paramedics and the stretchers and the people on the stretchers and the children who were crying and the parents who were shouting for their children and the rest of them who were just coughing in a way that was terrifyingly familiar.

            Nezumi paid attention only to his fire, walked away from the bakery, across the road, then down half the block until the crowd of people drawn by the fire had dispersed somewhat, and then there were police shoving the curious people who’d followed him away from him, making a perimeter for him to be able to consume the fire safely, and someone was running through this perimeter and offering Nezumi a respiration mask, and only then did Nezumi look away from the fire in the sky, expecting to see Satoshi, expecting to be able to ask whether the firefighter had gotten Shion out safe.

            But it wasn’t Satoshi. It was a different firefighter, some woman he’d seen around but never spoken to.

            “Take this, Nezumi,” she said again, and Nezumi took it. The firefighter clasped his arm. “You did good work.”

            And then she was gone. Nezumi pulled on the facemask, then looked up again, tried not to think about Shion and called the fire to him, holding out both his wrists to offer two points into which the fire could enter.

            Nezumi closed his eyes. If he left them open, he’d be tempted to look around for a shock of bright white hair, and when he thought about Shion, his concentration slipped, he felt a burn across his wrist, the fire flashing across his skin instead of delving into it, and Nezumi gritted his teeth, knew it would hardly be a burn but the skin might be red for a little while.

            He needed to concentrate. To consume the fire and think about nothing else until it was gone.

            Nezumi opened his eyes again to see how much fire was left. It wasn’t much. He pushed all of it down, pulled it against the skin of his entire open palms, watched it dissolve into him, felt the warmth of it coating his insides, and then it was gone completely.

            Nezumi reached up, pulled off his respiration mask, threw it on the ground and was about to run back to the bakery when he saw Shion right in front of him, standing still and then running towards him, stopping abruptly in front of him.       

            There was soot on Shion’s cheek, a smudge of it that looked misplaced on the rest of him. He seemed relatively unharmed, from Nezumi’s quick assessment, and Nezumi felt his breath returning to his lungs in a dizzying way until he noticed Shion’s eyes were wet.

            Before he could say anything, Shion was stepping forward, filling the gap between them, his arms around Nezumi, pulling Nezumi, hugging Nezumi to his chest, feeling so incredibly solid and warm.

            _Warm._

            Nezumi didn’t have to think. Was reaching up, wrapping his arms around Shion, pulling Shion back so that their chests pressed together, so that their bodies pressed together, so that he felt Shion and only Shion and nothing else, hugged him more tightly still, pressed his forehead to Shion’s shoulder so that he couldn’t see anything but the darkness that the proximity of Shion created.

            “Shion,” Nezumi breathed; the word felt pulled out of him, and in that moment he felt Shion stiffen in his arms, and then Shion was pulling back, and Nezumi knew he had to let go but he hadn’t held Shion – he hadn’t held anyone – in two years, and his body ached from the cold of it, his bones felt frozen and needed more time to thaw.

            Nezumi dropped his arms. Shion stepped away from him. Put distance between them, space between them, and Nezumi exhaled hard, stared down at the sliver of road between his and Shion’s shoes.

            He felt like he could drop to his knees. He felt like his bones were pulling down on his body, trying to crumble, the frame of his skeleton buckling.

            “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. I was – I am grateful. And relieved. You saved my mother, that’s all.”

            Shion’s words were not harsh, but they were clear.

            Nezumi understood them completely. He understood. He hadn’t meant to pull Shion so tightly. He hadn’t meant to hold him so hard. It had been an accident. A reflex he hadn’t known he had.

            “Yeah,” Nezumi said. He stared at the ground still because he didn’t want to look at Shion, because if he looked at Shion again it would hurt.

            It hurt, to look at him. It hurt to look at him more than it had hurt to be away from him, and Nezumi didn’t understand that.

            “I should – I have to go. They’re taking my mom to the hospital, I should get to her.”

            Nezumi nodded at the ground, then made himself look up because he wanted it to hurt.

            It was better than feeling nothing. It was better than feeling cold.

            “Yeah,” he said again. He wanted to say something more. Anything more.

            But Shion was turning away from him, then walking away from him, and Nezumi was alone only for a moment before there were news casters and microphones and cameras all at once, and it took everything, for Nezumi not to light them all on fire. Not because he felt out of control, but because he wanted to deserve the pain he felt.

            He did not feel his fire against the surface of his skin. He knew to bury it deep now. He knew to take everything he felt and toss it from him like it was nothing more than dirt.

            He knew how to get rid of it, even when what he felt was so much it should have destroyed him, it should have set the city on fire, it should have burned down the sky and turned the clouds to ash and melted the sun until it dripped like a broken thing, and all that was left was darkness.

*


	16. Chapter 16

Karan only needed to be hooked up to oxygen for a few hours, but was released from the hospital before the night ended, and Shion spent the night with her.

            The next evening, he was back in his apartment, reading and eating cereal, but realized after a spoonful that he’d forgotten the milk. He stood up from his kitchen counter and was opening the refrigerator door when his text alert went off.

            Shion closed the fridge without the milk and checked his phone, found a text from Safu.

            _NPA caught the arsonist. Are you watching the news?_

            Shion went to his living room, turned on the news, and indeed across the bottom of the screen was the headline – _Serial Arsonist Found Lighting Fire to Apartment Complex, Arrested on Sight._

            Shion waited until they showed a picture of the kid – just a pimply teenager, gangly and average. Shion was impressed that someone so young had been able to light so many fires undetected despite the entire city police force and then the NPA searching for him.

            The news showed the note the kid had written for Nezumi again, the corny love letter, and then there was footage of the kid being led into a police cruiser.

            The kid pressed his handcuffed hands to the glass window of the cruiser as the car pulled away, and the news footage switched again to news castors, a new headline appearing across the bottom of the screen.

            _With the Arsonist Caught, Will the FireMaster Stay?_

            Shion stared at the words, watched the news castors as they presumably discussed the topic but heard none of what they were saying, and then returned to the kitchen, opened the pantry, crouched down and reached back until his hand found the neck of a glass bottle.

            He pulled it out from the cupboard and stood up, considered the bottle of vodka he hadn’t opened yet for only a moment before twisting the lid.

*

There was a knock on the door, and Nezumi stopped stretching under his bed. He’d been attempting to reach the book that had fallen off the side of it, in the crack between the wall and the mattress in which his arm wouldn’t fit despite his attempts.

            He was, therefore, lying across the floor of his room on his stomach, cheek to the wood, stretching his arm under the low bedframe for his book, an effort that had taken an entire minute already.

            Nezumi rested his cheek on the floor for a moment, then pushed up off the wood with his palms and stood up.

            He walked to the door, shoving his bangs from his forehead before reaching out to open it, not remembering the last time anyone had hesitated to barge in. “Since when did anyone kno – Oh.”

            It was Shion.

            Beside him was Satoshi, dressed half in uniform, half out – his firefighter pants hitched up by overalls over a t-shirt. Nezumi was surprised Satoshi was even there.

The arsonist had been caught. They’d found out not even an hour before. Most of the crew had gone out for drinks, their first day off since the arsonist started ransacking the city and required the entire crew to be on call at all times. Generally, Nezumi had been informed, there was a minimum number of firefighters who had to be at the station at all times. But after Nezumi opted out of the invitation to join them for drinks, the rest of the crew seemed to come to some sort of agreement that having Nezumi at the station could suffice as the minimum crew required to be on call.

            “Hi,” Nezumi said, looking from Satoshi back to Shion, who looked a little out of it, and when Shion burped loudly, Nezumi realized the guy was drunk.

            “Found him in the downstairs lobby,” Satoshi said. His arm had been around Shion’s waist, but he removed it.

            Shion visibly stumbled, and Nezumi reached out instinctively.

            “I’m drunk,” Shion mumbled, as Nezumi caught his arm.

            “He’s drunk,” Satoshi reiterated.        

            “I got him.”

            “Sure. Holler if you need anything,” Satoshi said, then left the doorway, and Nezumi pulled Shion inside his room and closed the door behind him.

            The room he’d been leant was small, crammed with two bunks that stacked three mattresses each. Nezumi led Shion to his own bunk, sat the man down carefully. The moment he let go of Shion, the man hunched over, his head between his knees.

            Shion groaned. Nezumi crouched in front of him. The smell of alcohol wafted off from his body.

            “Do you need water?”

            Shion groaned again, shaking his head. Nezumi stared at the shift of his white locks of hair. He could have reached out. He could have touched just a few strands. Just to remind himself. Just for a moment.

            Nezumi curled his hands into fists. “Why are you here, Shion?”

            Shion looked up at him in a bleary way. He wasn’t just drunk. He was plastered, his eyes wet and unfocused, though he looked as if he was working to focus them.

            His cheeks were pink. Nezumi took a breath and held it.

            “Are you – Are you – ” Shion reached up. Pushed his hands against his face, dropped them again. “Are you going to leave?”

            Nezumi blinked at him, confused, thinking at first that Shion was asking if he was going to leave right now, leave the tiny bunkroom now that Shion was in it, then realized Shion was asking if Nezumi was going to leave the city now that the arsonist had been caught.

            “Do you care?” Nezumi asked, because he didn’t think Shion did.

            Since Nezumi had come back to the city, he had seen nothing of Shion but for the first day and the day before at the bakery. Shion’s indifference was completely clear to him, and Nezumi understood it, did not need Shion to explain to him this change.

            Nezumi had left, and Shion had taught himself to feel nothing to protect himself. Nezumi understood that. Of course he understood that.

            Shion swayed until Nezumi reached out, touched his shoulder only to steady him, took his hand back immediately again.

            “I wish I didn’t,” Shion finally said, very quietly, and Nezumi leaned forward, if only to hear the man better. “I’m drunk,” Shion added, pitching forward again, and this time he rested his forehead on Nezumi’s shoulder.

            Nezumi reached up. Didn’t mean to. Wove his fingers through Shion’s hair. Didn’t want to. It was so incredibly soft, and if Nezumi closed his eyes, he could be back in the apartment Safu and Shion shared again, he could be back on the sofa on a hot summer afternoon with Safu’s fan cooling his skin, he could be on his back, pinned to the couch by the man who’d climbed on top of him, insisting he wasn’t heavy despite Nezumi’s protests, he could be feeling Shion’s heartbeat against his own as the man fell asleep draped over his body, he could be lifting his hand up to weave his fingers through Shion’s hair, hardly noticing what he was doing, hardly thinking anything of the gesture because it wasn’t supposed to be anything special, he was supposed to be able to run his fingers through Shion’s hair countless times more, the moment was not supposed to be temporary at all, they were supposed to have a lifetime.

            Now, in this moment, Nezumi felt Shion shaking against him, heard the sticky gasp of Shion’s breaths, opened his eyes and looked at the crown of Shion’s head, at the bright white hair and his own fingers weaved through them.

            Nezumi couldn’t apologize because he wasn’t sorry. Not for anything.

            He knew it was a mistake, to have sought Shion out, to have fallen for him, to have let Shion fall right back. He knew that, but he would make the mistake again and again if given the chance to turn back time, and Nezumi knew that too.

            He needed those months in Shion and Safu’s apartment that had felt like a lifetime. They were gone now, but he’d had them, and it made the rest bearable.

            And he’d needed to leave just as much. He would have killed Shion otherwise. Just being in the same room as the man now, Nezumi could kill him. He could lose control at any time and kill him; Nezumi was no longer naïve enough to ignore that.

            “If I’d told you beforehand, you would have just argued with me. It would have been more difficult,” Nezumi said quietly, then realized Shion might not know what he was talking about, had not been following Nezumi’s thoughts, but Shion’s quiet crying stopped after a minute, and the man was speaking.

            “I woke up and you were gone.” Shion’s voice was hard and hollow.

            Nezumi almost turned enough to press his lips to Shion’s hair. Almost. “How would it have been easier?”

            Shion lifted his head from Nezumi’s shoulder. Nezumi’s fingers fell from his hair.

            “If you hadn’t left,” Shion said, and his voice cracked, and he reached up with fumbling hands and pushed his palms against his eyes.

            Nezumi shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

            “Why not?” Shion asked, his voice slurred, his gaze heavy. His rested his elbows on his knees and ducked his head into his palms, facing the floor, and Nezumi watched Shion’s own fingers weave through the white of his hair.

            “It’s not safe for you,” Nezumi finally said, having to force the words out of him, and his voice sounded stiff to his own ears.

            Shion made a strange sound that almost sounded like a laugh, breathy and thick as if coated in a sob. “I don’t understand you,” he whispered.

            Nezumi’s chest squeezed. He pushed his bangs up off his forehead. “Shion. You need to leave, all right? I can’t be around you – ”

            Shion looked up at him so suddenly it startled him. “You’ve been doing – doing that since you got back here. Acting like – ” Shion took a breath as if to gather himself, as if to force his words to come out without slurring together completely. “You’ve been acting like you still give a shit about me. Like you still feel the same way as two years ago – ”

            Nezumi flinched back, immediately hot. “Acting? Shit, Shion, you can be really goddamn dense it drives me – ”

            “Don’t – Don’t do that,” Shion interrupted, shaking his head so thoroughly he almost fell off the bed, and Nezumi was forced to reach out and touch him again, his shoulder again, not wanting to touch him at all, wanting to be as far away from him as possible.

            He needed Shion to leave.

            Shion’s elbows slipped off his knees, and he pitched forward again almost violently. Nezumi tightened his hand around Shion’s shoulder and tried to push him back up.

            “Shion,” he said, worried, unsure how much Shion had drank.

            When he’d pushed Shion back up, the man blinked at him lazily, lifted his hand and touched Nezumi’s hand that was still on Shion’s shoulder, and Nezumi jerked away.

            Shion didn’t even seem to notice.

            “Don’t tell me you still love me,” Shion said, very quietly, but his voice was strong even so. “That was so long ago.”

            Nezumi stared at him. Almost wanted to hit him.

            “Why did you come here, Shion?” he asked again, trying to keep the anger from his voice, everything else he felt that he didn’t want to identify from his voice, the feeling that he was breaking completely from his voice.

            “Sometimes I still feel that reflex,” Shion said slowly and heavily, looking at Nezumi with his head tilted, “that the place I need to be is beside you. But that’s just a memory. It’s nothing real anymore.”

            Nezumi felt his jaw clench. Worked not to let his flinch show on his features. His eyes burned. He needed Shion to leave. He needed Shion to leave now, before the rest of him burned as well.

            “I used to love you so much it hurt,” Shion whispered. “Do you remember that?”

            When Nezumi blinked, a drop of water caught in his eyelashes. He could see it just within his vision.

            Nezumi stood up. He didn’t feel fire anywhere near his skin, but it should have been there. It should have been pressing right up against the underside of his flesh. It should have been trying to escape, and it worried Nezumi that he couldn’t even feel it, it worried him that he might release it without knowing, that he might set the room on fire without feeling any warmth at all, without feeling anything at all.

            “I’m going to call Safu to come get you,” he said, and Shion looked up at him, tilted his head and stared up with wide eyes like a child.

            “Are you going to leave again?” Shion asked, in a way that was nothing but empty.

            “Don’t lie down. Just sit there. Vomit on the floor if you have to,” Nezumi said, and then he turned away from Shion, blinked again and the drop of water dislodged from his eyelashes.

            He reached up, wiped at his eyes roughly, left the room.

            There was a phone in the lobby, so Nezumi had to descend three flights of stairs and was glad Satoshi was not there when he got downstairs. He grabbed the receiver, realized he didn’t know Safu’s number, cursed and slammed the phone back down and climbed back up the stairwell, returned to his room where Shion had laid down on his back, and Nezumi ran to him.

            “Dammit, Shion,” he snapped, pulling Shion back up.

            Shion blinked at him. “I’m tired.”

            “If you sleep on your back you’ll choke on your vomit.”

            “I’m not vomiting.”

            “Shut up and tell me you brought your cell.”

            “Mmm,” Shion hummed, and Nezumi didn’t know if that was a yes or no, pressed his hand to Shion’s thigh and felt one side then the other over Shion’s jeans. “Nez – Nezumi – ”

            “Shut up, I’m just looking for your phone,” Nezumi muttered, feeling it in Shion’s left pocket and reaching in, pulling it out while Shion squirmed.       

            Nezumi typed in Shion’s code, relieved the man hadn’t changed it, and found Safu’s name at the top of the recent calls log. He tapped it and held the phone to his ear, glancing at Shion, who was watching him back.

            “Were you crying?” Shion asked, and Nezumi turned away from him, ignored the drop of his stomach.

            “Hey, why didn’t you text me back?” Safu said into the phone.

            “It’s me. Shion’s here and plastered, come pick him up.”

            Safu didn’t hesitate. “Where’s here?”

            “The fire station. I can’t leave to take him home, I’m on call, I’ve got to stay here.”

            “I’ll get him. Is he okay?”

            “Who’s that?” Shion asked, reaching for the phone, and Nezumi stepped away from him.

            “Was that him?”

            “He’s fine, just drunk. I can’t have him here, you need to get him before I – ” Nezumi cut himself off. Took a deep breath.

            “I’m already getting into my car. Talk to me, Nezumi, you’re not going to – Do you feel okay? Maybe you shouldn’t be in the same room as him.”

            Nezumi still didn’t feel any fire anywhere within him. He didn’t trust that. Didn’t understand it. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d felt more in his life than he did in that moment, and his fire should have been right up against his skin, his fire should have been there.

            It worried him, that he couldn’t feel it at all, but he didn’t say this to Safu.

            “Just come get him.”

            “Who’s that?” Shion asked again, louder.

            “It’s Safu, will you shut up?” Nezumi snapped.

            “Nezumi, I really don’t think you should be in the same room as him. Just in case – ”

            “I don’t need your advice, actually, I’m fully aware of what I’m capable of,” Nezumi said shortly into the phone.

            Safu was silent.

            “My Safu? Can I talk to her?” Shion slurred from the bed.

            Nezumi pinched the bridge of his nose. Figured if he gave Shion the phone at least Shion wouldn’t be talking to him any longer, saying shit like he had been to him any longer.

            Nezumi held out the phone, not stepping any closer to Shion as he did so, and Shion reached out, took it, nearly dropped it so Nezumi had to catch it and their fingers fumbled.

            Nezumi jerked back his hand. Shion put the phone to his ear but still stared at him.

            “Safu? I’m drunk,” Shion said, sounding tired.

            Nezumi looked away from him, stared at the walls.

            “I think I made Nezumi cry.”

            Nezumi tried to tune him out. Debated leaving the room. Didn’t trust Shion not to lie back down and choke on his own vomit, and that was the last thing Nezumi needed.

            Again, he wondered where the hell his fire was. Why he felt only cold and nothing else inside of him.

            “Mmmm,” Shion was humming, and Nezumi glanced at him, saw that he had indeed fallen on his back again, his legs still hooked over the edge of the bed.

            Nezumi ground his teeth together, stepped forward and grabbed Shion’s wrist.

            “Ow,” Shion complained, as Nezumi pulled him back up.

            “Stop lying down or I’ll hit you,” Nezumi snapped.

            “You’ll kiss me?” Shion asked back, looking at him, and the phone slipped out of his hand.

            Nezumi didn’t look at Shion, bent down and picked up the phone, and Safu was midway through a question when he put it to his ear.

            “ – going on?”

            “He’s being an idiot, that’s what’s going on. Are you nearly here?” Nezumi demanded.

            “Oh, hi, Nezumi.”

            “Where are you?”

            “I’m almost there.”

            “Do you want to kiss me?” Shion asked louder.

            “Why is Shion talking about kissing?” Safu asked.

            “Because he’s drunk, what does it matter to you?” Nezumi snapped.

            Safu paused, and then – “I just don’t think it would be a good idea for either of you, that’s all,” she said gently.

            Nezumi wanted to throw Shion’s phone against the wall. Spoke through gritted teeth. “Thank you for your words of wisdom, but I’m a big boy, I think I can make these sorts of decisions on my own by now.”          

            “I’m only saying – ”

            “Please shut up, Safu, all right? Mind your damn business.”

            “Hey, don’t talk to Safu like – Oh, ow – Like that – ” Shion mumbled, having tried to stand up and hitting his head on the bunk above him, falling back down and lying again on his back.

            Nezumi reached out for Shion’s wrist again, jerked Shion up so hard he worried for a moment that he’d hurt him.

            “Ow,” Shion said, rubbing his shoulder once he was sitting.

            “Sorry. Did I hurt you?” Nezumi asked.

            “Did you hurt him?” Safu asked in his ear.

            Shion kept rubbing his shoulder, but looked at Nezumi with a crease between his eyebrows. “That was a long time ago.”

            “Nezumi, did you – ”

            “He’s fine,” Nezumi said, his voice tight. “Tell me you’re here.”

            “I’m here,” Safu said, surprising him. “I’m coming in, I’ll come get him.”

            “The lobby is always unlocked, walk around the counter and there’s a door to the stairwell, it’s the third floor, second door on the left,” Nezumi instructed.

            “Got it,” Safu said, and Nezumi hung up on her, threw the phone on the bed beside Shion, who was sitting hunched over with his head between his legs again, his hand still cupping his shoulder.

            Nezumi looked at him for a few seconds. “You all right?” he asked, not exactly wanting Shion to answer.

            “I think I’m drunk,” Shion mumbled in a garbled way.

            “Always knew you were a genius.”

            Shion groaned. “I can’t even remember how I got here. I didn’t kiss you, did I?”

            Nezumi stared up at his ceiling. “Why would you have done something like that?”

            Shion let too long a pause fall between their words so that at first Nezumi didn’t think he was going to reply, but then he did. “If you asked me to, I probably would. I still think you’re so beautiful I forget to breathe when I look at you sometimes.”

            Nezumi didn’t have to say anything, didn’t have to react, as there was a knock on his door a second later, and then it was opening.

            Safu stood in the doorway, and again, Satoshi was beside her.

            “Hey,” Satoshi said, looking from Shion to Nezumi.

            Safu walked into the room and held out a hand to Shion, who took it, grinning sloppily in a way that squeezed Nezumi’s chest.

            “Safu! What’re you doing here?” he asked happily, as Safu pulled him up, and Shion winced.

            “Why are you wincing?”

            “My shoulder hurts.”

            “Why does your shoulder hurt?”

            “Dunno,” Shion muttered, standing and leaning on Safu, who wrapped an arm around his waist and turned to Nezumi.

            “I met Satoshi downstairs and asked him to help carry Shion down the stairs. I don’t think you should do it. You might start a fire,” Safu said, as if the clarification was necessary, as if Nezumi didn’t know why she didn’t want him near Shion.

            “Yeah, fine,” Nezumi said, glancing at Satoshi, who nodded at him.

            “It’s no problem,” Satoshi said, offering a smile that Nezumi turned away from.

            “Can you walk?” Safu asked Shion, who was sliding down her side.

            “Hm? Me?” Shion asked, then took a step forward and nearly fell on the floor, but Safu caught him.

            “Ow, Shion,” Safu complained, and then Satoshi was beside them.

            “May I?” he asked, and Shion looked up at him.

            “May you what?” he asked, then started giggling, then cut himself off as he pointed at Satoshi. “Wait, do I know you?”

            “Satoshi,” Satoshi said, reaching out and slipping his arms swiftly around Shion, taking the man in his arms effortlessly, the same way he carried bodies out of burning buildings.

            Nezumi watched as Shion reached his arms around Satoshi’s neck.

            “You’re a fireman,” Shion said.

            “You’re incredibly light for a man of your height. You should eat more,” Satoshi replied.

            “Am I in a fire?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi pushed his bangs from his forehead and held them up over his head, curled his fingers tight.

            “No, sir,” Satoshi said, laughing lightly and walking back towards the door. He nodded at Nezumi as he passed him, but Nezumi hardly noticed, was looking at Shion who was looking right back at him.

            Shion reached out his hand as if to touch Nezumi, and Nezumi stepped back even though Shion was already too far from him to reach.

            “Get out of the fire, Nezumi,” Shion said, and then Satoshi carried him out of the room.

             “Nezumi!” Shion called from down the hall, and Nezumi heard Satoshi saying something but couldn’t make out the words because there was a loud rushing in his ears.

            Safu followed, though she turned at the doorway, glanced at Nezumi who didn’t care to know what she saw in his face.

            She could always see too much.

            “Are you going to leave the city now that the arsonist is caught?” she asked, and Nezumi almost smiled, would have if he could.

            “You and Shion should coordinate your interrogations. It’d be less repetitive.”

            Safu stared at him, then laughed lightly. “I’ll miss you. I always did,” she said, and then she left, closing the door gently behind her so that Nezumi found himself alone in his room again.

            He walked to the closed door. Listened to Safu’s steps down the hallway, heard the door to the stairwell opening, waited to hear it close again seconds later.

            Only then did Nezumi lift his hand level with his chest, palm up. He summoned fire to the center of his palm, but nothing was conjured, and Nezumi narrowed his eyes, tried harder, but he had never had to _try_ to conjure fire.

            It was always just there when he requested it. It did not take effort. It did not take a second thought. It was more natural than breathing.

            Nezumi braced his other hand against the shut door. Closed his eyes and imagined fire over his palm and opened his eyes but his palm was empty still.

            He tried again. And again. Gave up on his palm and attempted to set fire to the floor of his room. Gave up on that and tried his bunk. Then his ceiling. Then the entire room. Then just a flicker of a flame, just a flash of it.

            Nothing.

            Nezumi felt nothing.

            He thought he’d known what it was to feel nothing before, but it had never been like this.

            “Come on,” Nezumi whispered, closing his eyes again, letting himself think of the past in a way he never did when he was awake, letting himself think of his childhood, his village, the other FireMasters, his father and his mother and his baby sister, letting himself think of everything.           

            He opened his eyes, knew there’d be fire surrounding him, but there was nothing at all.

            Nezumi stared at the absence of his flame. Felt too much to fit inside of him, but had no way of getting it out.

            He held out his hand again. Tried once more, the most basic of flames, the first controlled flame that children were taught – a drop of fire balanced over a fingertip.

            When there was still nothing, Nezumi considered that he was disappearing.

            Wondered if he was broken.

*


	17. Chapter 17

Shion stuck his head out the car window, and the fresh air felt so good he unbuckled his seatbelt and lifted himself even farther out the window until he felt a tug on his t-shirt.

            “Get back in the car, Shion. And buckle your seatbelt.”

            Shion did as he was told, though only grudgingly.

            “Why did you go to see Nezumi?” Safu asked.

            Shion rested his head on the headrest and turned to look at her. “I like Nezumi.”

            “I thought you didn’t like Nezumi,” Safu said, glancing at him quickly before looking back at the road.

            “You don’t know everything,” Shion said, then grinned, because sometimes he thought Safu did know everything.

            She was so smart, so incredibly smart.

            “Did you tell Nezumi you like him?” Safu asked, and Shion felt his eyebrows knit.

            “I don’t like Nezumi,” he argued.

            “You just said you did.”

            “He left me.”

            “Yes, I know that.”

            “He didn’t even – he didn’t even tell me he was going to go. Or give me a choice. Or any warning. And it was the middle of the night. And he’d just burned my room. And lit my socks on fire. And I loved him, and he just left like – like – like some kind of – like some kind of person who leaves, and who told you I like him anyway? I don’t,” Shion argued, then felt a little like he had to vomit, so he turned from Safu and opened his car door.

            “Shion!”

            The car swerved, and then Safu was jerking Shion’s arm back, and he accidentally let go of the car door, which swung wide open.

            “There it goes,” Shion said, pointing, and a car honked at them.

            “Dammit, Shion! Your seatbelt is on, right?”

            Shion checked. “Yes.”

            “Okay, hold on.”

            More cars were honking, and then they weren’t moving anymore, and Shion looked around, thinking this didn’t look like his apartment or Safu’s, this looked like a random street.

            “Reach out and close your door,” Safu said, and Safu looked at her.

            “Where are we?”

            “The side of the road. Come on, Shion, I’m not allowed to park here.”

            Shion didn’t know why Safu had parked if she wasn’t allowed to park, but reached out for the door, closed it back, and heard the click of the lock before Safu was driving again.

            “Shion. I think it’s a better idea if you didn’t like Nezumi anymore,” Safu said slowly.

            Shion tilted his head against the headrest again. He felt tired, heavy. He didn’t know if he liked Nezumi or not. He didn’t like to think about it. It was easier not to think about Nezumi at all, it was easier to pretend he didn’t exist at all, and it was easier to do all of that when he wasn’t drunk.

            “You know he’s not going to stay in the city. They caught the arsonist. He’ll probably leave again. Is that why you drank so much tonight?”

            “I didn’t drink anything,” Shion argued, closing his eyes, but that was a bad idea, he felt a little nauseous when he did that, so he opened his eyes again. “Never mind, I’m drunk.”

            “I hate seeing you like this. It’s been two years. I don’t know what to do, Shion.”

            “About what?”

            “About you.”

            “What about me?” Shion asked, confused, looking at Safu, who glanced at him.

            She sighed. “You’re really drunk.”

            “Yeah,” Shion agreed.

            “Okay. Let’s just get you to bed. I’ll take you to my place, I want to stay with you tonight.”

            Shion didn’t mind this. He liked being with Safu.

            “Remember when we lived together?” he asked, smiling at the thought.

            “I remember.”

            “And then Nezumi lived with us too,” Shion said, because he remembered that too, and that had been nice too.

            “I remember,” Safu said again, but this time more quietly.

            At first, it was nice to remember, but then Shion didn’t like it, didn’t want to anymore, felt sick and pitched forward, stared at his knees.

            “Shion? Are you going to be sick?”

            “I don’t wanna be drunk anymore,” Shion mumbled.

            “We’re almost there, and then you can go to sleep, and when you wake up, you won’t be drunk anymore. Do you still have nightmares?”

            Shion touched his forehead to his knee. “Sometimes,” he said quietly.

            “Shion, please don’t sit like that, if I get in an accident the primary force of the impact will be on your head and neck.”

            “Don’t get in an accident,” Shion mumbled.

            “Shion, sit up.”

            “No.”

            “You’re being extremely difficult.”

            “ _You’re_ being extreme – extremely difficult.”

            Safu muttered something under her breath that Shion couldn’t make out, and then there was a stretch of silence, and then the car was stopping but Shion didn’t realize that until Safu was opening his car door and pushing him up by his shoulders.

            “How did you get out there?” Shion asked, confused, glancing at the driver’s seat and amazed to find that it was empty.

            “Come on,” Safu said, unbuckling Shion’s seat and half-lifting him, and Shion felt heavy but tried to stand anyway, felt wobbly on his feet, felt tired more than anything.

            He liked how Safu felt, her arm around his waist, her body beside his, holding his up as they stumbled into her building, then the elevator, then down the hall, then into her apartment. He liked how solid she was, how warm.

            “You’re warm,” he told her.

            “You can sleep on my bed with me, but I have to be up early, so my alarm might wake you.”

            “That’s fine,” Shion mumbled, eager to be in a bed, but instead he found himself in a bathroom.

            He glanced at himself in the mirror. Thought he looked different than he remembered looking, but he couldn’t figure out why.

            “You should pee. Here’s a spare toothbrush for you if you want to brush your teeth, but if not at least use mouthwash. The liquor is really strong on your breath, I won’t be able to sleep beside you like that.”

            When Safu left the bathroom, she pulled the door only halfway closed, and Shion rested his hand on the wall to brace himself while he peed, then held up the toothbrush on the edge of the sink and decided the entire ordeal of brushing his teeth was definitely much too difficult for the moment, so he used mouthwash and stumbled out of the bathroom, forgetting to spit out the mouthwash in his mouth, having to return to the sink to do so.

            By the time he got to Safu’s bedroom, Shion felt half asleep. He didn’t bother undressing, collapsed onto Safu’s bed, and Safu was in the room a moment later, pushing at him.

            “At least get under the blankets. Here, drink this glass of water before you go to bed, or your hangover will be awful.”

            “No,” Shion mumbled.

            “Sit up, Shion. Drink it, and I’ll stop bothering you.”

            Shion opened his eyes, forgetting having closed them, and allowed Safu to tilt the glass against his lips.

            He only drank half, then collapsed back on the bed, and to his relief, Safu didn’t protest.

            “Do you need anything else?” she asked, and Shion blinked at her.

            “I don’t think so,” he mumbled.

            Safu sat on the edge of the bed, reached out and weaved her fingers through Shion’s hair. “I wish I could do something. Or if I could at least understand…” she shook her head, looked frustrated, and Shion thought it might be important for him to pay attention, but his head felt foggy.

            “Understand?” he asked, but what he really wanted was to sleep.

            “I thought, well, you said your feelings for him were gone, and you acted as if you were indifferent, and you truly seemed to have changed. And as your best friend as well as an experienced psychoanalyst with a doctorate degree, I assumed I could trust my judgments. So rationally, I read the combined presentations of your words, actions, and demeanor as the true reflections of your heart. But they aren’t, are they?”

            Shion could not fully process what Safu was saying. He blinked at her lazily, attempted to focus. She had asked him a question. He had to answer. “Yes?” he offered.

            Safu smiled a small smile. “I forgot, you’re drunk. Let me dilute it for you. Despite everything you’ve said and done since he left, you still love him, don’t you?”

             “Nezumi,” Shion said, because he thought he figured out who Safu was talking about, and that was a development.

             “It’s always been Nezumi,” Safu said.

            At this, Shion nodded. This, Shion could comprehend, however drunk he was. “It’s always Nezumi,” he agreed.

             “Even now.”

            Shion rubbed his lips with the back of his hand. He was exhausted, but Safu looked so confused, and Shion wasn’t used to Safu looking confused, didn’t like it, wanted to help, to explain to her everything he could understand even when it felt jumbled up in his own head. “I think – I think when I realized he was going to leave again, it hurt like the first time. But it shouldn’t hurt like that if I don’t care about him anymore, right? It was allowed to hurt the first time he left because – because I – because he was everything, he was everything, Safu – but now he’s not, he can’t be, I didn’t let myself feel anything for him so he wouldn’t be, so I don’t know why it hurts – It’s not supposed to hurt this time, I swear.”

            Safu reached out again. Wiped the pad of her thumb beneath Shion’s eye where a drop of water had leaked out, warm on his skin.

             “Do you want to sleep, Shion?” she asked, very softly, and Shion swallowed, found it difficult to do so.

             “Yeah.”

            Safu leaned down, pressed her lips to Shion’s cheek, straightened up again and stood from the bed. “I’ll be back, I’m going to brush my teeth and wash my face. Don’t sleep diagonally like that, stay on one side of the bed,” she said, and Shion nodded against the pillow, though he didn’t move otherwise as he watched his friend leave the room.

            He was asleep before Safu returned.

*

A half hour after Shion left, Nezumi was in the kitchen trying to manipulate the gas fire he’d lit on the stove when the station alarms went off, a repeated horn accompanied by flashing lights.

            Nezumi looked around the kitchen, certain the alarm had to have been set off by mistake, and then Satoshi was bursting into the doorway.

            “There you are. Get on a suit, you might have to go in.”

            Nezumi stared at him.

            “Let’s go! I’ll be in the truck, move your ass! And turn off the stove,” Satoshi shouted, and then he was gone.

            Nezumi clicked off the stove, ran to the storeroom with extra gear and pulled out pants and a jacket, not bothering to check the sizes as he headed to the garage where Satoshi was indeed waiting for him in a truck, its sirens already on and lights flaring.

            Satoshi was driving before Nezumi closed his door behind him after climbing in.

            He didn’t bother with his seatbelt, pulling the suit on over his clothing.

            “What’s going on, Chief? Over,” Satoshi asked, and Nezumi glanced at him, saw that Satoshi had the radio dispatch to his lips.

            “Kid we caught was just a decoy or some sidekick. You got Nezumi at least? Over.”

            “Yeah, he’s here. How do you know it’s the arsonist? Over.”

            “Lady in the house who called in said so. Might be hysterical, but we’ll go with her word for now. Doesn’t matter to you either way, you’re not the police, are you? Just get there quick, she’s got a kid. Little boy. Over.”

            “On the way. Over.” Satoshi stuck the dispatch back in the dashboard and spoke to Nezumi without turning away from the road, the dark of it lit up by the headlights and the spinning red and white lights. “We’re the only two left in the station. The others got texted but who knows if they’re sober enough to get their asses over here or if they’re even awake. You’ll have to come inside, I know you don’t have training but you just shove the fire away and avoid floorboards that look eaten out by flame and you’ll be fine. You want the kid or the mom?”

            Nezumi stared. “I can’t – I can’t – ”

            Satoshi glanced at him. “Is this a joke? I don’t know your sense of humor, but you really don’t come across like a cold feet guy.”

            Nezumi shook his head, forced himself to say it even though he didn’t want to acknowledge it in the first place. “I can’t control fire.”

            “What does that mean, you taking a break? Now’s not the time to go on some morality strike or whatever you’re – ”

            “I can’t do it. I just – ” Nezumi took a breath, pushed his bangs up, had to keep it together, hadn’t felt this unraveled since he was a kid and didn’t know better than to let his emotions show on his sleeve. When he spoke again, it was calmly, evenly. “Satoshi, I can’t manipulate fire or consume or create it, not right now, I don’t know for how long. That’s how it is. I’m still going in there with you. I’ll get the kid.”

            The kid would be easier than the mom. Mothers were hysterical. Mothers didn’t leave without their children, mothers refused to survive without their sons, and Nezumi figured Satoshi would have more experience successfully pulling mothers out of their houses.

            “You’re serious? You can’t control fire?”

            “I’m still going in. I’ve got the suit,” Nezumi said.

            Satoshi stopped the truck, and it took Nezumi a moment to realize they were at the house. “You’re not going in. You’ve got no training.”

            “Avoid the weak floorboards,” Nezumi said, getting out of the truck.

            “Work the water hose,” Satoshi called.

            “There’s two people in there, right?” Nezumi said, walking around the truck and finding Satoshi standing in front of him, hands out as if to stop him.

            “You’re not going in there,” Satoshi said, shaking his head.

            “This isn’t an argument,” Nezumi snapped.

            “No, it’s not,” Satoshi shouted back, and then there was a crashing sound from the house, and they both glanced at it. A spirited fire was billowing out.

            “We gotta go,” Nezumi said, trying to run around Satoshi, but the man grabbed his arm, was surprisingly strong as he yanked Nezumi back. “Shit, let go of – ”

            “You’re gonna do this now? You’re gonna make me subdue you?”

            Nezumi jerked his arm free. Stared at Satoshi hard. “I’m getting that kid out, and you’re getting out the mother. No one’s going to die tonight.”

            Satoshi stared back, then looked at Nezumi in a sweeping way. “Where’s your facemask?”

            Nezumi blinked. “Shit.”

            “Dammit, all right, take mine,” Satoshi said, shoving his respiration mask at Nezumi’s chest, and Nezumi shoved it back.

            “I’m not – ”

            “Your life is more valuable than mine.”

            Nezumi flinched. “Take your goddamn mask – ”

            “And I’ve got experience running into burning buildings. I know what the hell I’m doing, and you’ve got no clue. Take it or you’re not coming in. Keep arguing with me and they’ll suffocate from the smoke if they’re not crushed by the parts of the building already crumbling down. And get on your gloves, there should be a pair in one of your pockets.”       

            Nezumi took the mask, shoved it over his face, then searched his pockets for his gloves, was pulling them on as he and Satoshi ran towards the house.

            In front of the entrance, Satoshi pulled on Nezumi’s sleeve. Fire spilled out the windows, climbed up the sides of the house. Smoke escaped into a cloud above the roof.

            “You sure you can’t shift this fire?”

            Nezumi knew before he tried, couldn’t budge the fire an inch; it felt unfamiliar and strange, like it wasn’t fire at all.

            He shook his head, and Satoshi nodded, his expression setting.

            “All right, it’s a one story, at least there’s that. Been in these houses before, likely it’ll have the same layout and the kid’s room’ll be on the left, second door probably but check the first in case. He’ll be under the bed or in the closet, they always are. Keep an eye on the ceiling, you can hear parts of the boards up there crashing down. Number one cause of death, a beam falls down completely aflame and you’re trapped behind a wall of fire.”

            “Got it,” Nezumi said, eager to get in; they’d let too much time pass already, and smoke filled the lungs fast.

            He turned away from Satoshi, who tugged him back by gripping the end of the respirator mask over Nezumi’s face, and Nezumi winced as it pulled on his hair and his head jerked back.

            “Hey, listen up. First rule of run-in rescues, you are your first priority. I’m not telling you that because you’re the last surviving FireMaster. I’m telling you that because right now, you’re on the crew, and that’s the rule of the crew. You get yourself out safe before anyone else. You have to make a tough decision, then you make it. Do you understand?”

            Nezumi nodded again, but only so Satoshi would let go of him.

            He had no intention of prioritizing himself over anyone in that house. He had no intention of leaving someone in there to choke on smoke and suffocate.

            “All right, let’s go. If you get trapped, shout, I’ll get you,” Satoshi said, and then Satoshi was opening the door, and smoke poured out.

            Nezumi wanted to step back, but kept going, breathing through his mask, sweating after only three steps into the house, where Satoshi saluted him before running down a hallway.

            There were doors to the left of Nezumi, and he kicked the first open to reveal a bathroom, moved onto the next, and when he kicked this one open he could see that Satoshi had been right – this was a little boy’s room.

            It was filled with fire.

            Nezumi stood in the doorway, staring at the fire that did not yield to his will, that did not move when he pushed it, that did not inch closer when he summoned it.

            It was out of his control, and Nezumi found himself frozen in front of it.

            He closed his eyes. His heartbeat was too loud. He didn’t have time to stand there, but he couldn’t move, his legs felt shaky, his stomach writhed.

            “Concentrate,” he whispered under his breath.

            _Inhale. Exhale. Breathe._

            He opened his eyes again. Walked carefully into the room. The fire was close to the bed, so Nezumi decided to check the closet first, found a door to his right and opened it and there was a little boy inside, had to be around six years old, wearing blue and yellow pajamas and curled on in the corner of the floor with his hands over his face. He was coughing into them.

            Nezumi crouched down. Reached out, and the boy flinched when Nezumi touched his wrist, so Nezumi pulled his hand back.

            The boy lowered his hands, stared up at Nezumi, his eyes wide and bright.

            “Hi,” Nezumi said, his voice distorted by the respirator mask. He reached up, pulled it off. “It’s okay,” he said.

            “You’re the FireMaster,” the boy said. His voice was hoarse. Nezumi needed to get him out.

            “That’s me,” Nezumi said, smiling lightly. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

            The boy curled himself farther into the corner of the closet and pointed his finger over Nezumi’s shoulder, and Nezumi turned, saw that the fire was spreading, was nearly touching them.

            Nezumi turned back around. Ignored the heat encroaching on his back. He wasn’t going to get burned again. He was going to get out, and he was going to take this kid with him.

            “Don’t worry about that. I can control fire, remember? I won’t let it touch you,” Nezumi lied, and the kid blinked up at him, coughed, then inched forward and reached his tiny hands out.

            “Okay,” the kid whispered, then coughed more, and Nezumi looked at the mask in his hand, held it up.

            “Want to wear my cool fireman mask?” he asked, and the kid nodded, so Nezumi reached out and pulled it over the boy’s head, careful not to let the strap of it pull the kid’s hair.

            It was a little big on him, but Nezumi figured it was better than nothing.

            “All right, I’m going to pick you up, and we’re going to walk right out of here, no problem,” Nezumi said, reaching out again, hooking his hands under the kid’s armpits, pulling the kid up as he stood and wrapping his arms around the kid’s body while the kid wound his legs around Nezumi’s torso and his arms around Nezumi’s neck.

            Nezumi could feel the mask digging into the side of his neck and face as the kid huddled closer to him, and Nezumi squeezed him more tightly. The kid was amazingly light and soft in his arms, like a sack of flour, and it occurred to Nezumi how fragile he was.

            “I got you, don’t be scared,” he murmured, turning to see the fire right in front of him, and on instinct he pushed it back, but it didn’t budge. “Shit,” he cursed, shifting his arms around the boy to hitch him up higher on his waist.

            The kid was saying something as Nezumi started inching his way around the fire, not wanting to get them stuck in the closet.

            “Hm? What was that?” Nezumi asked, distracted, trying not to breathe in smoke. The air was hot and thick and burned his eyes. He blinked quickly, remembered to look at the ceiling and noted that the doorframe above their exit wasn’t looking too good. “Shit,” he cursed again.

            “My mom, where’s my mom?”

            “Your mom?” Nezumi asked, taking another step towards the door, wary of the fire that was climbing the walls. “Oh, she’s going to be okay, don’t worry about her, okay? Look, what’s your name?” Nezumi asked, to distract the kid from his mom, and then he was running, getting out of the room just before the doorframe crashed down, into the hallway again to find fire blocking the exit back out the front door.

            _Inhale, exhale._

            Nezumi started coughing, was aware of the kid talking again, but he couldn’t hear him.

            He didn’t ask the kid to repeat himself. He couldn’t waste breath talking anymore, he just needed to get them out.

            He shifted the kid in his arms again, raised one hand up to press the kid’s face closer to his body, feeling the mask dig into him farther.

            “Hold onto me tight,” he said, and then he ran again, having to go the opposite direction of the front door, finding himself in a living room, noting there was no back door, looking up to see smoke and not much else, coughing again and ignoring the searing ache down his throat and chest.

            Just as Nezumi saw a window in the living room – just big enough for him and the kid – there was a shout from somewhere else in the house, a woman’s voice.

            “Mom?” the kid shouted back, and then he was squirming in Nezumi’s arms, letting go of Nezumi’s neck so that Nezumi almost dropped him.

            “Ow, shit – Hey, kid, wait, hold on – ” Nezumi couldn’t stop coughing. Wasn’t inhaling nearly enough oxygen, was fully aware of that, but he ignored this and the pain in his chest and tightened his grip on the kid who was flailing against him now.

            “Mom! _Mom!_ ” The kid was completely screaming. Nezumi started running towards the window, stopped in front of it, took a step back, then leaned away from it as he kicked it.

            He lowered his boot, then raised it again, trying to kick the broken glass from the edges of the window because the kid was flailing so much he’d definitely cut himself, but the smoke was getting to be too much, and Nezumi gave up on the effort, made sure he was holding the kid tightly and jumped out the window in a way that wouldn’t hurt the kid so that he fell on his back on the yard.

            The wind was knocked out of him, and Nezumi inhaled hard, feeling the scrape of fresh air against his throat.

            He rested his head back on the grass. Stared up at the night sky, no longer dark but filled with flashing lights, and the sound of sirens came a second later as if delayed, and then Nezumi felt the kid still squirming against him, and then he noted a searing pain in his leg, different than a burn, different than the squeeze of his chest as he tried to regain his breath.

            Nezumi sat up, still hugging the kid to his chest, and realized the kid wasn’t squirming or flailing, he was sobbing, his sobs wracking his body, and Nezumi hugged him tighter.

            “It’s all right,” he whispered, but he didn’t know if that were true or not.

            He didn’t know if the kid’s mom would get out, if Satoshi would get out, if they’d both be stuck in that burning house. He didn’t know if the kid would be left alone at only six years old. He didn’t know if the kid had anyone else, or if this was it, if now it would just be him.

            Nezumi stood up, hitching the kid higher in his arms again, ignoring the sharp and shooting pain up his leg that seemed to start from his calf. He started walking away from the house, towards the flashing lights, and only then did he glance down, note that his firefighter pants were torn, and he figured the glass from the window must have cut him.

            When he got to the front lawn, he had to squint against the flashing lights, saw that there were other fire trucks on the road by then, that a few hoses were pouring water onto the house, and that there were ambulances beside the trucks. Nezumi walked to one of the ambulances, unsure the procedure now, never having paid much attention.

            A few yards from an ambulance, an EMT was running towards him. “Status?” the woman asked, and Nezumi stared at her.

            “What?”

            Recognition crossed the EMT’s features. “What is the kid’s status, Nezumi?” she asked, more gently this time.

            Nezumi felt his jaw clench at the way she said his name as if they knew each other. He worked to relax himself and looked at the kid, who had stopped crying now and looked back at him, his face an inch away from Nezumi’s. “You okay?”

            The boy nodded.

            “He’s okay,” Nezumi told the EMT, unsure if this was what she’d meant, but she smiled.

            “That’s great to hear. I can take him now.”

            The kid tightened his arms around Nezumi’s neck, and Nezumi crouched down to place his legs on the grass.

            “This nice lady is going to take care of you now,” he said, reaching around his neck and unclasping the boy’s small hands.

            The boy shook his head. “Where’s my mom?”

            Nezumi turned to cough into his sleeve, looked back at the kid. “I’m sure she’s – ”

            “My baby!”

            Nezumi looked up at the shout, saw Satoshi jogging away from the house with a woman in his arms who was pushing him, and he stopped jogging, let her go so she could run to her kid, who had forgotten Nezumi and was running back to her.

            “Mom!” the boy shouted, and she fell to her knees, wrapped her arms around him, and Nezumi watched them from where he still crouched, felt something aching in him, didn’t care to know what it was.

            The mother was laughing and crying, and she only loosened her hug to pull at the respiration mask that was still wobbling, oversized, over the kid’s face. “What’s this you have?”

            “The FireMaster gave it to me!” the boy shouted, ecstatic when a moment ago he’d been sobbing against Nezumi’s chest, small and fragile.

            Satoshi had walked up to the woman, leaned down and held out a hand. “And I gave it to the FireMaster. Mind if I take it back, kiddo?”

            The boy smiled and nodded, and his mother handed the mask to Satoshi. “Thank you so much, thank you so much.”

            “No problem, ma’am, that’s just my job. You let the EMTs check you out now, just to be sure all is in order.”

            The woman nodded, picked up her kid and stood up and let the EMT who’d spoken to Nezumi lead her and her son to an ambulance.

            “Your leg’s bleeding.”

            Nezumi turned from looking at the mother and son and saw that Satoshi was crouching in front of him. At some point, Nezumi had fallen forward from his own crouch onto his knees.

            “It’s fine,” Nezumi said, not looking at it.

            “You can’t give a mask to a kid. The mask is for the rescuer, so that the rescuer can keep rescuing. Got it?” Satoshi asked, but despite his lecture, he was looking at Nezumi in a concerned way.

            Nezumi turned away from him, shoved himself up, refusing to wince at the searing of his leg. He felt himself swaying on his feet and didn’t give a damn. “Whatever,” he muttered.

            “Akiko! Take a look at Nezumi’s calf, will you?” Satoshi called, and Nezumi wanted to turn back around and punch him.

            An EMT turned from next to an ambulance. “Sure thing, Satoshi, good to see you. You doing okay?”

            “I’m great,” Satoshi said.

            The EMT jogged over to Nezumi. “Mind if I look at your leg?”

            “Yes,” Nezumi snapped, stepping away from him, hot pain shooting up his leg as he did so.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Don’t say my goddamn name, I don’t know who the hell you are!” Nezumi shouted, and the EMT stepped back from him.

            Nezumi closed his eyes. Behind his closed eyelids, he saw the boy he’d pulled out of that burning house running towards his mother, being hugged by his mother, so tightly it must have hurt but Nezumi knew it wouldn’t have, it would have only felt incredible, solid and warm and safe.

            Nezumi’s stomach turned, kept turning.

            “No worries, Akiko, he’s fine, it’s not you,” Satoshi said, and Nezumi could hear the man right beside him, and then he felt Satoshi’s grip on his arm, strong and unyielding.

            Nezumi couldn’t jerk his arm free. He felt dizzy. Opened his eyes.

            “Nezumi,” Satoshi was saying.

            Nezumi pitched forward, retched onto the grass, braced his hands on his knees so he wouldn’t fall and felt his leg stinging and his chest searing and his stomach turning, but despite it all he didn’t feel his skin burning, didn’t know where his fire was and why it had gone and why everything had gone, why everyone had gone, why he couldn’t even have one person, why he’d had to lose them all.

            Satoshi’s grip was still on Nezumi’s arm, helped hold him up, and the man was saying something but Nezumi couldn’t hear him over his own vomiting and didn’t really care at all.

            It took a while to stop, and when he did, he didn’t want to stand up fully again, but did after breathing in and out.

            His throat and chest hurt, but it was bearable.

            It was always bearable.

            “You’re coming with me to get checked up by the EMT. He can stitch you up here if you need it, you don’t have to go to the hospital,” Satoshi said, in a way that didn’t invite argument, and Nezumi was too exhausted to argue anyway.

            He let Satoshi lead him to the back of an ambulance, grateful that the mother and her son were not in sight, and there was the same EMT, Akiko.

            “Climb up here and sit on this stretcher for me,” the EMT said, and Nezumi did as he was told, wincing and not caring, noting that Satoshi followed as if they were friends or maybe as if Satoshi was his caretaker, but Nezumi didn’t care about that either.

            The EMT ripped open the firefighter pants and raised up the leg of the jeans Nezumi had been wearing beneath them.

            “Window?” Satoshi asked, peering at the wound.

            Nezumi wiped his lips with the back of his hand and didn’t bother responding.

            “Needs a few stitches, no big deal. I’ll numb you up with a general, that okay?”

            Nezumi pulled the knee of his leg that wasn’t injured up to his chest, dipped his forehead against it, closed his eyes.

            “That’s okay,” Satoshi said quietly.

            After the shot of anesthesia, Nezumi was left to sit for ten minutes, and the EMT and Satoshi disappeared.

            Nezumi didn’t move. Could hear their voices from just a few feet away, knew they were talking about him, but people were always talking about him.

            He was the last surviving FireMaster. He was a threat and a human weapon, and then he was a hero, and now he was useless.

            He closed his eyes tighter. Wished Shion were there, then realized what he was wishing for, hated that the thought had even crossed his mind, hated that he was tired enough to think something as pointless as that, felt his skin burn from the fact that he had thought something like that, but it wasn’t burning with his fire.

            It was burning with his shame and nothing more. He didn’t know who he was anymore, but he didn’t feel like himself, thinking such pointless things, wishing for what he couldn’t have, what didn’t want him in the first place.

            Nezumi’s eyes burned, and he was so tired of crying. He was aware that only an hour or so before, Shion had been drunk in his room. It felt like lifetimes ago rather than the same night, and Nezumi almost wished it were lifetimes ago before he caught himself and forced himself not to wish for anything more.

            When the EMT came back to put in the stiches, Satoshi was back as well, telling Nezumi about the chief who was furious with the rest of the crew for leaving just the two of them at the station, telling Nezumi about the arsonist who’d been caught again, but this time it was the real arsonist rather than the sidekick, or at least, that’s what the police were saying, but clearly they didn’t know what they were talking about.

            Nezumi didn’t respond, let Satoshi’s voice wash over him, words that didn’t matter. And then the EMT was declaring him good to go, and Nezumi stood up, took the bottle of painkillers the EMT held out because he was too tired to argue and followed Satoshi back to their truck.

            There were news crews everywhere. More than usual, Nezumi thought, squinting at the cameras being flashed at him, feeling Satoshi’s hand gripping his arm again, hearing a voice he recognized as the fire chief’s shouting at the media to back off.

            “Nezumi! Is it true that you lost your powers?”

            “Why didn’t you consume this fire, Nezumi?”

            “Won’t you answer just one question, Nezumi?”

            “Are you feeling okay, Nezumi? Are you sick?”

             “Why were you throwing up, Nezumi? Is it related to why you can’t control fire? Is it some kind of FireMaster virus?”

            “Nezumi! Did all FireMasters go through a stage like this? Like some kind of menopause?”

            “Menopause?” Satoshi muttered, pulling Nezumi faster, and Nezumi’s leg ached but he didn’t complain. “These guys are really something else.”

            “Nezumi! Are you just taking a break?”

            “Nezumi! Is this a political stance of some sort? Ethical? Moral?”

            “Nezumi!”

            “Nezumi!”

            “Nezumi!”

            When Nezumi climbed into the truck and slammed the door on them, the silence was thick in his ears. He rested his head back against the headrest. Breathed even though it hurt to do so.

            “I didn’t tell them. Guess they figured it out, seeing as we’re back to old-fashioned water hoses. Seems so primitive suddenly,” Satoshi said from beside him, giving an exhale of a laugh as he turned the ignition on.

            The truck’s siren blared for a moment before Satoshi turned it off.

            “You’re breathing hard. You inhaled a lot of smoke in there,” Satoshi said, winding the windows down as they drove.

            Nezumi turned and stared out the window. Felt his hair blowing back from his face, felt the sweat cooling over his skin.

            It felt incredible.

            “Look. I know you don’t talk. But – ” Nezumi closed his eyes. Satoshi cut himself off. Nezumi could hear his sigh, loud and long. “Okay. Okay,” Satoshi said, not in an annoyed way, but as if in acceptance, and then he was silent.

            Nezumi opened his eyes again. Watched the black sky flit past. Thought it might be a relief to drive like this forever, with the wind cooling the sweat on his skin and the sun never rising.

*

Once again, Nezumi’s photograph made the front page of the newspaper.

            Shion sat at Safu’s kitchen table and continued to look at it after he’d finished reading the accompanying article, all of the information from which he’d already gained watching the news after he woke up.

            Shion had woken up at noon and felt extremely hungover, but after two cups of coffee and a bagel he felt marginally better. He’d decided to take off work mostly because he’d be late anyway, and he figured he might as well take the entire day.

            He wasn’t feeling particularly productive anyway.

            Alone in Safu’s apartment, however, was not doing him much good either, although it did allow Shion ample time to get caught up on the news. It was a relief when Safu came back from her morning class, throwing Shion the paper, the front page of which he’d read quickly, preferring to look at the photograph rather than reiterate the news he already knew.

            “Do you think it could be my fault?” Shion asked, not looking up from the photograph while Safu bustled around the kitchen.

            She had an afternoon class, but had told Shion she was thinking of cancelling it.

            “How would it be your fault?”

            “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything I said to him last night. Or really anything I did. What if we…I don’t know,” Shion trailed off.

            The Nezumi in the photograph looked back at him sadly.

            That was what he looked. Sad.

            He was holding a child in his arms. A little boy who wore one of the masks that firemen usually wore, that sometimes Shion saw Nezumi wearing on the news when he was dealing with one of the arsonist’s fires. The boy’s arms were tight around Nezumi’s neck, but Nezumi’s arms looked even tighter around the boy, like he was scared of dropping him, scared of letting him go even though they were out of the fire, the burning house clearly visible in the background.

            “You didn’t do anything sexual, if that’s what you’re referring to,” Safu was saying, and Shion looked up from the photograph.

            “How do you know? Did I tell you? Did Nezumi tell you?”

            “Neither of you told me explicitly, but it was easy enough to deduce from what you did say. I also find it highly unlikely that Nezumi would take advantage of you, you were awfully drunk. Although you might have said something to him. You told me on the phone that you thought you made him cry,” Safu said, before taking her mug from the microwave and leaning against the side of the kitchen table.

            Nezumi had gotten them both in the habit of preferring the microwave over the kettle.

            “I made him cry?” Shion asked, a strange heat flitting through his chest too quickly for him to understand.

            “That’s what you said.”

            Shion covered his face with his palm. “Why did I go over there?” he groaned.

            “Shion. This isn’t your fault. Nothing you could have done could have taken the ability to manipulate fire from a FireMaster.”

            Shion dropped his hand from his face. “How do you know that? You don’t know how FireMaster fire works. Maybe there is something someone could do, something terrible, and I did that something.”

            “Do you have to take responsibility for every problem that everyone has in the world?” Safu asked, sounding exasperated.

            “This isn’t everyone, this is Nezumi. What, do you think it’s a coincidence? That I get drunk and go to Nezumi’s and an hour of unknown events transpires that I completely cannot remember, and according to you Nezumi cries at some point, which is not something Nezumi does easily, as you know, and then he can’t control fire anymore.”

            Safu raised her eyebrows. “No, I don’t think it’s a coincidence because that implies some apparent connection, if only a perceived one, whereas I can see no connection whatsoever, false or not. I also don’t find this conversation at all productive. What is self-assigning blame going to do?”

            “What should I do instead then?” Shion asked, rubbing at his temples.

            “Stop obsessing,” Safu said, stealing the newspaper from in front of him, and Shion slumped forward, resting his elbows on the kitchen table and his head in his hands.

            “He looks sad, doesn’t he?” Shion said, watching Safu scrutinize the photograph.

            Safu threw the newspaper back onto the table. “He looks as though he’s not hiding his emotions, which is rare for him. I’d guess being in such close contact with a fire he couldn’t control unnerved him.”

            “And the emotion he’s not hiding is sadness,” Shion pressed.

            Safu glanced at him above her mug. “Well, yes, if you want to name it, I would say that sadness fits his physiognomy pretty accurately,” she agreed slowly.

            Shion slid the paper back towards him, pivoted it so it faced him again.

            “Stop looking at it, Shion.”

            “Why?” Shion asked, still looking at it.

            “Is it making you happy to look at it?”

            “No.”

            “Is it making you sad?”

            Shion bit his lip instead of answering.

            “That’s why you should stop looking at it,” Safu said pointedly.

            “I feel like I have to do something. I feel responsible.”

            “You’re not responsible. Don’t do anything. What would you even do?” Safu asked.

            “I can’t imagine how he must feel. This is – This is a part of him, and now it’s just gone.”

            “The media says it’s gone, that doesn’t mean it’s actually gone. And I don’t think Nezumi was very fond of his abilities to manipulate fire.”

            Shion looked up at Safu. “Even if he wasn’t fond of it, it was still part of him. It’s all he had to connect him to his childhood, and I know he liked to pretend he was better off forgetting his past, but it meant something to him, it was everything he used to have, all the people he used to love.”

            Safu set her mug down. “I’m not going to get into a lengthy discussion about Nezumi with you. I don’t find it healthy.”

            Shion leaned back. “This isn’t a lengthy discussion about Nezumi.”

            “Of course it is.”

            “We’re discussing current events. This is the news,” Shion argued, pointing at the newspaper, and Safu gave him a flat look.

            “That’s your excuse?”

            “It’s not an excuse!” Shion insisted, defensive and feeling hot.

            Safu sat down across the kitchen table from him. “Shion. I’ve known you since we were kids, and I thought I knew everything about you, but it turns out I don’t. I don’t know what you want when it comes to Nezumi, and I couldn’t figure it out, how I could be so clueless about something so important to you. But last night I realized that you don’t know what you want either. I think before you do anything else involving Nezumi, you need to figure that out.”

            Shion sat up. “What did I say to you last night?”

            Safu tucked her hair behind her ears. “You told me you didn’t let yourself feel anything for him because you didn’t want him to hurt you again,” she said.

            Shion stared, thinking that sounded more than anything like something Nezumi would have said. “I said that?”

            Safu smiled lightly. “Yes. And I understand, but don’t you think that’s just the same thing Nezumi has always done?”

             “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Shion interrupted, more surprised.

             “And where has it gotten him? I know he hurt you, Shion, and honestly, I have a hard time supporting the idea of you and Nezumi in a relationship of the emotional intensity you previously had. I have never been more scared in my life than that night you were in your room with him and he wasn’t in control of his fire.”

            Shion leaned forward. “Look, Safu, I don’t want to be in a relationship with him again, you don’t have to worry.”

            Safu looked at him in an almost sad way, though there was something else in her expression Shion could not name. “It’s hard for me to think about losing you. But last night I understood that I need you to be happy more than I need you to be safe.”

            Shion looked away from her, at his hands on the table. “My happiness doesn’t depend on Nezumi,” he said, finally.

            “I know that. I know you can be happy without him, I have seen you happy without him. But it’s a different kind of happiness. When you were with him, it was something more. It seemed…easier, for you to be happy. For you to be completely happy. This is your life, Shion, and what was felt between you and Nezumi is not something I think I’ll ever fully understand. But I do know that I want you to choose what will make you happiest. You’re my best friend, and I think that is a reasonable desire on my part, don’t you?”

            Shion swallowed. Took a deep breath. Looked back up at Safu, saw in her face only kindness, only love, an expression so familiar on her, his best friend since childhood.

            “I don’t know what I want,” he finally said, and Safu nodded.

            “I know. But you can figure it out. I’ve always thought you were incredibly intelligent,” she said, smiling lightly, and Shion laughed, couldn’t help himself.

            Safu stood up, walked around the table to Shion, combed her fingers through his hair, the touch warm and brief, before leaning down, kissing his forehead.

            “Come,” she said, straightening up. “I’ll cancel on my students, let’s go to the movies. I need a distraction from Nezumi, I think about him too much for someone who’s not even in love with him.”

            “You could be, I don’t mind,” Shion said.

            “I don’t want your hand-me-downs,” Safu objected, and Shion laughed again. “Let me change, I’ll be right out! Look up movie times.”

            “Okay!” Shion called back as Safu left the kitchen.

            He pulled out his phone, was about to look up movie times, but was distracted from a notification at the top of his screen from the news app he followed.

            _Breaking News: FireMaster Appears Unable to Master Fire_

            Shion hesitated, then clicked the notification, was taken to a page that showcased a large photograph of Nezumi above the same headline – the exact same photograph as the one on the front page of the newspaper.

            Again, Shion looked at it, couldn’t help himself.

            _Is it making you happy to look at it? Is it making you sad?_

            Shion didn’t know that it was making him feel happy or sad.

            He thought it was something else, something he hadn’t felt for Nezumi in a long time, or at least, he thought he hadn’t felt it, but maybe it’d just been hidden down deep, the way Nezumi used to hide his feelings until they were too lost to remember existed.

            Shion thought he might have felt love.

*


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys sorry the wait was long for this chapter, i had a buttload of coursework this week so i didn't really get to write anything until today, but i hope you guys like what i churned out, thanks for reading as always! :D
> 
> (also i'm gonna guess there's not gonna be many chapters left after this, prob just one or two, but we'll see)

The arsonist was refusing to speak – to his lawyer, to the police, to anyone at all – until he spoke to Nezumi.

            He had used each of his daily phone calls to call the station, but Nezumi was not interested in speaking to the fire-obsessed maniac who was the sole reason he’d come back to this city in the first place, and declined every call.

            Nezumi spent most of his time in the room in the station that was still his despite the fact that he was no longer fighting fires for the city. He was not fighting fires for the city mostly because there were no fires to fight.

            That is, until a week after Nezumi lost his ability to manipulate fire, when the alarms at the station went off.           

            Nezumi was lying on his bunk, staring at the bottom of the mattress on the bunk above him. He had a book beside him but was not reading it. When he did read it, his eyes shifted over the words, his fingers turned the pages, but he didn’t absorb any of it.

             The alarm had been going off for half a minute when his door opened. “What are you doing?”

            Nezumi didn’t look away from the bottom of the mattress above him. He had not spoken to anyone in a week, which wasn’t particularly difficult, as the rest of the crew knew not to bother him.

            “Hey. Nezumi, you don’t hear the alarm? We gotta go.”

            Nezumi was not wallowing in self-pity or anything else. He did not wallow.

            He wasn’t doing anything. He was just surviving. Getting through one day after the other. He didn’t have to speak to anyone in order to get to the next day. He didn’t have to fight fires in order to get to the next day.

            “What the hell, man? Look, I don’t know how to deal with you,” the firefighter at his door said, and then the door was slamming closed.

            Alone again, Nezumi tried to remember the last time he’d eaten. It was important to eat in order to survive. He aimed for at least a meal a day. He’d survived on less, but it was stupid not to eat at least once a day when the food was available to him, even if he didn’t feel particularly hungry.

            He didn’t feel particularly anything, so he knew not to trust the instincts of his body. He knew to force himself to eat at least once a day. To shower once a day. To exercise, but not for too long, not to overwork himself, just to keep his heart beating.

            Sometimes, Nezumi was certain his heart would stop permanently if he didn’t pay attention to it for a long enough stretch of time.

            The door opened again, and this time the voice was familiar.

            “Nezumi, let’s go,” Satoshi said.

            Nezumi, again, chose not to respond. He wasn’t a firefighter. He was in the station because the chief hadn’t kicked him out yet. There was no point leaving if he had somewhere comfortable to sleep.

            “Get off your ass, it’s about time you did. Let’s go,” Satoshi said again, this time more loudly, as if a raise in volume would be convincing, as if a raise in volume would return Nezumi’s abilities to manipulate fire, as if a raise in volume changed anything.

            Half a minute later, Nezumi’s mattress shook, and he looked away from the bottom of the bunk above him to see that Satoshi had kicked the one he was lying on.

            “Get up.”

            Nezumi slid his eyes back to the bottom of the bunk above his, and at that moment there was a hand on his chest, yanking him up and off the bed by his shirt.

            Nezumi grabbed Satoshi’s arm, twisted it free from his shirt and shoved Satoshi back, pulled him down to the floor, and pinned the man underneath him, with Nezumi’s knees on the floor on both sides of Satoshi’s waist and one hand on Satoshi’s chest, the other around his neck.

            Nezumi pushed down on Satoshi’s windpipe. Felt nothing but his own heartbeat, slow in his chest.

            And then he felt a sharp pain across his cheek, felt his head snap back as Satoshi hit him, and he let go of the man, felt himself get slammed to the ground on his stomach, felt something hard – Satoshi’s knee, he guessed – dig into the space between his shoulder blades, felt something else – Satoshi’s hand – force his head down, his cheek hard against the floor, Satoshi’s fingers in his hair and one only just grazing the skin of his ear.

            “Were you going to kill me?” Satoshi asked, sounding out of breath but not mad, not upset, not even curious – he sounded good-natured more than anything, like they were sitting in the truck and the man was carrying on some pointless conversation the way he did.

            Nezumi tried to push himself up, his hands flat on the floor by his shoulders, but Satoshi was strong.

            Stronger than him.

            “This is a little ridiculous, don’t you think? Someone could be dying in a fire, and here we are, roughhousing on your floor like children.”

            Nezumi was breathing hard. His face hurt from Satoshi’s hit, but not from his grip now, which was firm but not crushing.

            Even Satoshi’s knee in his back didn’t hurt. It just kept him pinned, like Nezumi had no strength at all.

            “Are you going to stop messing around and come fight this fire with me? I won’t try to make you talk to me, I promise,” Satoshi said, and Nezumi thought he could hear the grin in Satoshi’s voice.

            Nezumi exhaled hard but didn’t reply.

            “Come on, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi closed his eyes. Listened to his heart beat. It was still no faster than usual.

            “Okay, your argument is you can’t do anything with fire, which is the entire reason you’re supposed to be responding to fires. A valid argument. My argument is you’re at the station, which makes you one of the crew, which means you respond to fires when the crew does, whether or not you can do your fire magic or not. Since I’m the only one participating in the arguing, I get to decide whose argument is stronger, and I pick mine. So can we go now?”

            Nezumi didn’t respond and then felt Satoshi’s hand lifting from his head, Satoshi’s knee freeing his back, and the moment most of the weight of the man was gone, Nezumi rolled over, sat up, and lunged at Satoshi, shoving Satoshi again to the floor. And again, not a second after Nezumi pinned Satoshi, Nezumi was being hit, slammed down, pinned to the floor in Satoshi’s place, this time on his back with Satoshi’s knee digging into his chest, Satoshi’s hands around his wrists, keeping Nezumi’s arms against the floor.

            “Seriously?” Satoshi asked, turning his head to wipe his forehead on the sleeve of his firefighter jacket before staring down at Nezumi, who stared back, feeling his breaths rush out of his lips as if knocked right back out of him after each inhale.

            Even so, his heartbeat was still steady, and Nezumi would have been pissed at this if he could feel anything at all.

            “Look. You’re depressed, I get it. I googled it, anyway, and that’s what the internet says, and fine, I don’t know anything about depression, the internet said therapy, but I was gonna get into that with you later, we can save that, there’s a fire going on so it’s probably not the right time. So anyway, right now, you can be depressed in this room, or you can get your ass in the truck and be depressed while you point a hose at a burning construction site. You should pick the latter, cause otherwise I have a feeling the chief is gonna kick you out of the station, and you’ll have to be depressed on the street, which seems to me like the worse place to be depressed, what do you think?”

            Nezumi stopped trying to free his wrists from Satoshi’s grip. He relaxed completely, let his body go limp, and Satoshi just looked at him for a moment, then slowly let go of his wrists and took his knee from Nezumi’s chest, standing up.

            “If you jump me again, I swear,” Satoshi muttered, shaking his head and watching Nezumi as he sat up.

            Satoshi offered a hand, which Nezumi looked at before ignoring it and standing up on his own.

            Satoshi didn’t appear to care, pointed at Nezumi with it instead. “I’ll be in the truck, get a suit and bring your mask this time, I see it right there on that bunk, I’ll be real pissed if you manage to forget it again.”      

            Satoshi left then, and Nezumi knew he could have just returned right back to his bunk, but instead found himself walking to his bunk only to grab his respiration mask from the bunk above it, then leaving his room to get a suit from the storeroom.

            By the time he got to the truck, the rest of the crew that had been on call were gone.

            “We’re late,” Satoshi said, clicking on the siren and lights and driving out the driveway as Nezumi buckled his seatbelt.

            As he drove, Satoshi instructed Nezumi on how to use the hose. Nezumi didn’t ask why he wasn’t going into the building this time. He knew it was because he was not trained, that the week before had been only out of necessity since they were short on staff.

            He didn’t want to go into the building anyway. He didn’t want to find any little boys cowered in closets in blue and yellow pajamas. He didn’t want to carry anyone out. He didn’t want to reunite anyone with their mothers.

            When Satoshi finished explaining, there was a silence that Nezumi broke, not turning away from the window he stared out of.

            “I’m not depressed.” Nezumi didn’t know what it meant to be depressed, but it didn’t apply to him. He would know if he was depressed.

            “The internet’s been wrong before,” was all Satoshi said.

            Vaguely, Nezumi wondered what exactly Satoshi had googled about him for the internet to spit out that diagnosis, but he didn’t care enough to ask, and then he could see a fire outside his window.

            It was a frame of a building under construction. More than likely, no one was in it, unless workers had been building it at the time of the fire.

            Two trucks already had hoses pointed at it, water pouring down on the fire.

            “Get to it. And put on the mask. If you’re on the site with damaged lungs, you put on the respiration mask, I shouldn’t have to tell you that,” Satoshi said as he opened his door, and then he was out of the truck, pulling on his own mask as he ran towards the fire.

            Nezumi pulled on his mask and got out the truck, following Satoshi’s instructions to get the hose going. Once he had it unraveled, pointed at the fire, and turned on, the force of it was more than he’d been prepared for, and he took a step back to keep his balance as a violent stream of water shot out of it.

            He noted as he struggled to keep it pointed at the fire that the two other hoses had two firefighters each handling them. On noticing this, he felt the weight of his own hose somewhat lifted, the aim of it improved.

            Nezumi glanced behind him. There was another firefighter holding the hose, her hands matching the grip that the other firefighters had, and Nezumi shifted his own to copy it.

            “Hey,” she said, nodding at him, and Nezumi looked at her a second more before turning back to face the fire.

            He watched the fire cowering, felt again the unfamiliarity of it, his own disconnect from it. He was usually attuned to any fire around him, felt them in connection to himself the way he did his arms or fingers or legs.

            He had lost this connection since that night Shion came by the station drunk. He felt now only the lack of what used to be present. The absence. The want.

            When the fire was out – two workers having been helped out of the half-constructed building unharmed – the firefighter behind Nezumi helped load the hose back in the truck. After they’d secured it, the firefighter pulled up her mask to rest on top of her head, and Nezumi pulled his own off completely.

            “Do you know my name?” the firewoman asked, as Nezumi was about to walk away from her and get back in the truck, having just spotted Satoshi climbing into the driver’s seat.

            Nezumi looked back at her. “No.”

            “It’s Kohana, but the crew just calls me Hana. If I know yours, you should know mine,” she said, then gave Nezumi another nod and walked away.

            Nezumi returned to the front of the truck and climbed in.

            “Making friends?” Satoshi asked.

            Nezumi buckled his seat belt and stared straight out the front window.

            “If you’re not, you should. Hana makes a mean curry. Not bad to befriend a chef, that’s all I’m saying.”

            Nezumi pushed his bangs off his forehead. His hair was growing out again, he’d start tying it up in a ponytail as he used to soon.

            Satoshi shut up for a few minutes, and then – “Some of the crew are grabbing a drink now. Wanna go? Or go somewhere else, just the two of us, you know, just to get out of the station for a little. You don’t have to talk to me. As you can see, I’m very good at talking to myself. My wife gives me the silent treatment when I forget to clean out the cat’s litter, so I’ve got lots of practice with it.”

            “Is this you trying to give me therapy?” Nezumi asked, leaning his head against the headrest and turning to look at Satoshi, who glanced at him.

            “No. I think that should be left to professionals. There’s a woman with the fire department, a therapist I mean, you know, it’s a stressful job, a lot of the crew talks to her every now and then, some regularly. I’ve talked to her before, too. The nice thing about talking to a stranger is that you can say anything. You don’t have to put on a front.”

            “I’m not putting on a front,” Nezumi replied, looking back out the window because he was tired of Satoshi’s profile.

            “Okay.”

            “I’m not getting drinks with you.”

            “I’m not hitting on you.”

            Nezumi glanced at him again, saw that Satoshi was looking back at him with his eyebrows raised.

            Nezumi looked away from him again.

            “Just thought I’d clarify it. Never know what people are thinking. Especially you, I truly never know what you’re thinking,” Satoshi kept going. “Even having a wife these days, you know it doesn’t really mean anything to some people, and since you don’t seem intent on getting to know me, you wouldn’t know I’m not the sort of person with an interest in cheating on my wife. You also wouldn’t know that if I was that sort, I’d hardly attempt it with you. I’ll take a challenge, sure, but I find it pointless to go after impossible targets.”

            “Are you done?” Nezumi asked mildly.

            “If you’re going to force me to keep the conversation going on my own, you don’t get to pick the topic.”

            “You could shut up,” Nezumi muttered.

            “I’ve shut up the whole last week. Thought I’d let you get through some things, sort out your shit.”

            “Keep doing that.”

            “Look. This isn’t great for me either, trying to talk to a guy who doesn’t want a thing to do with me. But sometimes it helps to just…have human contact. Not be alone.”

            Nezumi felt nothing at the words, at the implication that he was alone.

            He was alone. He already knew that.

            “I don’t need help.”

            Satoshi exhaled in an audible way, but only said, “Okay. You don’t need help,” and was silent afterward.

            At the station, Satoshi didn’t get out of the truck.

            Nezumi unbuckled his seatbelt, didn’t care what Satoshi was doing.

            “I’m getting a drink with the others,” Satoshi said.

            Nezumi didn’t see a need to respond, didn’t see a need to have been informed of this, opened his door and got out of the truck.

            He could hear it reversing a second later, listened to Satoshi driving away again until he could hear nothing at all, as he’d walked into the station and closed the door to the garage behind him.

*

Nezumi had not left the city.

            Shion had come to the decision that he wanted to talk to Nezumi. That they needed to talk. To just get everything out, and they both needed to be sober during it – that part was key.

            Shion felt that his life was on hold. It had been split by Nezumi into a Before and After – Before he met Nezumi, After Nezumi left – but since Nezumi had come back, Shion’s After had become messed up, uncertain, and Shion did not like living in uncertainty.

            He didn’t know what he would say to Nezumi when they talked. He didn’t know what Nezumi would say to him. It only added more uncertainty, and it was this uncertainty that kept Shion from returning to the fire station to talk with Nezumi.

            He let a week pass, and then another, and then another. He saw Nezumi on the news, working beside the other firefighters. This made him happy – to know that Nezumi was not alone, that there were people looking after him, that he was doing something incredible for the city – but Shion didn’t know what Nezumi felt about it because Nezumi wore one of those masks that firefighters wore over his face in every photograph and news footage Shion watched of him.

            “Can you just go see him so we can stop talking about him?” Safu asked, while Shion helped her repaint her kitchen.

            “I don’t talk about him that much,” Shion objected.

            Safu just gave him a look, then pointed at the wall. “You have to paint in straight lines or it’ll look streaky when it dries. And even when you don’t talk about him, I can tell you want to, but you’re forcing yourself not to because you know you talk about him too much.”

            “I think you’re being delusional, Safu.”

            Safu put down her paint roller. “Why don’t you just go talk to him right now?”

            Shion watched the stripe of paint trail after his roller as he dragged it over a stretch of wall above the sink. He reached up again, painted another stripe beside it.

            “Shion.”

            “I can’t right now,” Shion replied.     

            “I can finish up on my own, it’s nearly done.”

            Shion took his roller from the wall, rested it in the tray of paint. “There’s only two outcomes. Either everything is over between us, or….”

            “Or you start over,” Safu said gently.

            Shion rubbed at his forehead. “I don’t think we can start over.”

            “You can try again.”

            “If he doesn’t want to, then that means it just goes back to how it was after he left. And I – I don’t want that,” Shion admitted.

            He didn’t want to return the After Nezumi left part of his life. And he couldn’t go back to the Before he met Nezumi part.

            The only part that was left was the While Nezumi was there, but Shion couldn’t have that either, not the way it had been.

            He didn’t know what was left.

            “You can’t keep avoiding him. If you want Nezumi in your life, you need to go and tell him that. He left without telling you, without giving you a chance to say what you wanted, and I know you’re angry at him for that, as you rightly should be. But now is your chance to do what he didn’t let you do before he left, and you don’t know that you’ll always have this chance. He could leave the city at any moment,” Safu said.

            Of course, Safu was right. She was always right.

            But if Nezumi didn’t want the same thing, then the uncertainty would be over, and as much as Shion disliked uncertainty, he preferred it over being certain that Nezumi would remain his past and only ever that.

            “Just go, Shion. You can go tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that, but I’ve never known you to procrastinate. It doesn’t suit you.”

            Shion bit his lip, then looked back at his unfinished wall. “You sure you don’t at least want me to help you finish?”

            “I’m going to have to paint over all of your swatches anyway. Nezumi is really just an excuse to kick you out,” Safu said, and Shion smiled, stepped away from the sink.

            “Thanks, Safu.”

            “Try not to stop at a liquor store on your way there.”

            “I’ll try,” Shion said, laughing and walking out of Safu’s kitchen to her front door, where Safu called out to him.

            “Want me to drive you?”

            “I’ll walk, the station isn’t far.”

            “Good luck!” Safu called, as Shion stepped out of her apartment and closed the door behind him.

            He took a deep breath, then went to the staircase, nearly ran down the stairs, slowed at the lobby, left the building and made his way to the fire station.

            It was late afternoon but not yet evening, and the sky was a dark and muted orange. Shion’s heartbeat felt thick and loud in his ears, and his hands were sweating as he walked despite the fact that it was somewhat chilly.

            By the time he reached the station, he fully regretted not taking Safu’s offer for a ride.

            He walked into the front lobby, found it completely empty, wasn’t sure what to do and rang the bell on the counter.

            A firewoman walked into the lobby from the door behind the counter. “You got a fire emergency?” she asked.

            “Uh, no, I – ”

            “Kidding, I know who you are. I’ll get him,” the woman said, then disappeared out the door again laughing to herself.      

            Shion wiped his hands on his sweats again. He was wearing his painting clothes – sweats, an old oversized t-shirt, and an unraveling sweater over top of that.

            He almost wanted to leave right then, but as he was eyeing the exit, the door behind the counter opened again.

            It wasn’t Nezumi.

            “Satoshi, right?” Shion asked, hesitantly. He had a strange memory of the man carrying him, though he couldn’t be sure why he would remember a thing like that, as he never had a reason to be carried by this man.

            It occurred to Shion, as he thought about it, that this carrying may have occurred on the night Shion came to the station drunk, the night he had a hard time remembering.

            “I’m surprised you remember,” Satoshi said, resting his arms on the counter between them.

            “I wanted to talk to Nezumi,” Shion said, as Satoshi didn’t say anything else.

            Satoshi nodded. “Right, I bumped into Natsuko and she let me know you were here and that she was going to get Nezumi, but I volunteered to do it. I’m trying to get the guy to at least tolerate me, although I can’t say it’s working all that well. Anyway,” Satoshi said, waving his hand vaguely, “he’s, ah, busy.”

            “I can wait,” Shion said, ignoring the heat in his chest.

            Satoshi rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Um…”

            “What did he say to you?” Shion asked, stepping closer to the counter.

            Satoshi looked away from him. “I don’t really know that I should be getting involved in this,” he said, sounding sheepish.

            “Please tell me, Satoshi,” Shion said, and Satoshi glanced back at him.

            He sighed. “I told him you were here and asked if he wanted me to send you up or if he preferred to come down to speak with you. And he said, ‘No, thanks.’ End quote. I wouldn’t take it personally, he’s been going through some stuff,” Satoshi said, in a sympathetic way.

            Shion pulled on a thread unraveling from the sleeve of his sweater. “Do you think – Do you think I could go up to his room and try for myself?”

            Satoshi rustled his fingers quickly through his hair. “Ah. I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t want to interfere or anything, but if he doesn’t want company, I mean, I’m trying to respect the guy’s space.”

            Shion narrowed his eyes. “I understand that,” he said, hearing his own voice come out more clipped than he’d intended. “I appreciate that Nezumi has someone looking out for him here. But I would like to speak with him, and I’m not leaving until I do.”

            Satoshi seemed to examine him. “Look. The fact that you’re even friends with Nezumi shows an incredible degree of stubbornness on your part, so I’m aware I’m fighting a losing battle here. I’m not trying to be the bad guy. Nezumi is – he’s – I think there’s something seriously wrong with him, and I’m not going to say it’s your fault, I’ve got no clue what the deal is with you two, that’s your business, fine. But Nezumi’s on my crew now, which means he’s my business. I’m concerned for Nezumi’s health and his safety, and going off pure instinct here, I don’t think acting against his quite clearly expressed desires and letting you – ”

            “What does that mean?” Shion cut in, preoccupied from listening to the end of Satoshi’s sentence. “What do you mean, you’re concerned for his health and safety?”

            Satoshi raised both hands in a defensive way. “Okay. Let’s not – Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

            “I’m not jumping to conclusions,” Shion replied shortly.

            Satoshi winced. “Right. I know. I don’t want to worry you. I just think, well, he’s been…not doing too well, so to speak, not that I think anything drastic will come out of it,” Satoshi said quickly, his words rushed, while Shion felt a squeezing in his chest.

            He was trying to figure out what Satoshi was saying, but the guy was not being clear. Shion didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it was hard not to.

            “Ah, shit, I’m not good at, ah, speaking, my wife tells me this all the time,” Satoshi mumbled.

            “What does that mean, he’s not doing well? Tell me exactly what you’re – ”

            The sound of the door behind the counter opening interrupted Shion, and then there was Nezumi walking into view, and on looking at him, Shion thought he understood what Satoshi had been vaguely referring to.

            Nezumi looked empty. His face was not just expressionless, it was hollow, any feeling gauged out of it in a way that made Nezumi appear completely remote, as if there was no person inside of his body at all. He did not look the way he had on the news, though if Shion thought about it, Nezumi was usually wearing a respiration mask over his face on the news.

            The skin underneath his eyes was dark, stains over his pale skin.

            “You’ve got paint on your forehead,” Nezumi said, voice as empty as his expression, nodding at Shion.

            “Nezumi,” Shion whispered. He was sick, Shion thought. Not physically, and Shion realized this was what Satoshi had been trying to say.

            _I think there’s something seriously wrong with him._

            “I knew you’d still be down here. You’re too stubborn.”

            “I’ll go,” Satoshi said, stepping away, but Nezumi reached out, caught his sleeve.

            “No need, better to have a buffer. I might set the guy on fire, I’ve been known to do that,” Nezumi said, and Shion stared at him.

            He still was not able to use fire. Everyone knew that, the media made sure of it.

            Shion assumed this was sarcasm, but it didn’t sound like Nezumi’s old sarcasm.

            There was something vacant about it. Nezumi did not sound amused, did not sound scathing, did not even sound bitter.

            He sounded detached.

            “What do you want?” Nezumi asked, in the same robotic way. Shion hardly recognized Nezumi’s voice at all.

            “I wanted – Nezumi, I wanted to talk to you,” Shion managed, forcing his voice to stay even, normal, needing something to be normal in this conversation.

            Nezumi’s grey eyes were flat, skidded over Shion’s face like he was hardly seeing him.

            “Talk.”

            “Nezumi,” Shion said, shaking his head. His insides squeezed. He felt shaky, anxious.

            “What?”

            “Nezumi, I’ll step out,” Satoshi said, his hand on Nezumi’s wrist, freeing his sleeve from Nezumi’s grip.

            “Do whatever you want,” Nezumi said, and then Satoshi was looking at Shion for a moment before leaving out the door.

            Shion was scared to be closer to this Nezumi he didn’t recognize, but he made himself walk around the counter, stand in front of him.

            Nezumi watched him wordlessly.

            “What’s going on?” Shion asked, thinking about reaching out to touch him.

            “Nothing.”

            “Is this – Is this because you can’t manipulate fire anymore? Is that why you’re…”

            “I’m what?” Nezumi asked, though the way he said it didn’t sound like a question, just a flat pair of words.

            Shion felt his eyebrows knit. His worry for Nezumi almost made him feel sick. “Do you feel okay?”

            Nezumi just looked at him. Reached up, tucked his hair behind his ear in a gesture that should have been familiar, but it wasn’t.

            Nothing about Nezumi was familiar.

            “If you came here to say something, say it,” he finally said.

            Shion didn’t know how to tell this man he loved him when he felt like he hardly knew him.

            This wasn’t his Nezumi. This was a shell of Nezumi, and Shion thought a part of him was scared of this Nezumi.

            But he knew his Nezumi was in there. And that was enough.

            Shion took a breath. If he was going to do it, he would do it right, fully. They were old enough now, had wasted enough time now, and to skate around the words, to let actions do the talking – none of that would suffice.

            They both deserved the truth.

            “Okay. I came here to tell you that I love you, Nezumi. I always did, even though when you left I was pissed at you, and I stopped loving you, or maybe I didn’t, I just forgot, but none of that matters. I don’t want to live without you if I don’t have to. I don’t know what it is about you, I’ve thought about it a lot, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I think it’s a lot simpler than a list of traits, or some kind of chemistry between us. I think it’s just that I want to be around you, I want to be beside you, and when I am everything feels better,” Shion said, refusing to let his voice waver as he spoke.

            Nezumi had made no indication of even listening, but he was still looking at Shion, and Shion took this to mean he had understood, or at least heard what Shion had said.

            “Okay, you got it out. You can leave now.”

            Shion felt his shoulders fall. “Don’t do that.”

            Nezumi turned around, but Shion wasn’t letting him go without a proper conversation, and reached out and grabbed his wrist.

            Immediately, Nezumi jerked his wrist free and Shion felt himself slammed against the wall, Nezumi’s hand around his throat before Shion even realized what was happening.

            Nezumi’s palm pressed his windpipe just enough to be uncomfortable, but Shion could still breathe, did so in gasps as the wind had been knocked out of him when Nezumi’d slammed him against the wall.

            “What are you doing?” Shion asked, staring up at Nezumi to see that his expression was still vacant.

            “Don’t touch me.”

            “Nezumi – ”

            “That was a nice speech, well done, but I’ve got nothing to say to you. You can leave now.”

            “Why can’t you just tell the truth! Why can’t you just be honest!” Shion demanded, feeling Nezumi’s hand press a little harder against his throat.

            Shion rose his hands to Nezumi’s wrist, tried to pull it from his throat, but the man’s grip was strong.

            “I don’t feel anything for you. I don’t feel anything,” Nezumi said, and Shion believed him, he had no choice but to believe this, he could see it plainly in Nezumi’s gaze.

            “But you did,” he insisted, undeterred – he understood that Nezumi was sick now, but he could get better; Shion would help him, and they could finally try to do this right. “When I hugged you that night you saved my mother when the bakery was on fire, and you hugged me back, you loved me then. I know you did. And then – and then three weeks ago when I got drunk and came here, I don’t remember what happened, Nezumi, and I’m sorry for that, whatever I said, but – ”

            “I don’t want to talk to you,” Nezumi said, letting go of Shion so suddenly Shion crumpled to the floor.

            He rubbed at his neck, breathed hard, and then Nezumi was crouching in front of him.

            “Get out.”

            “Nezumi. I hurt you, I know that – ”

            “Stop coming here.”

            “Nezumi, what’s going on? What happened to you?” Shion asked, hearing the strain in his voice.

            Nezumi’s eyes were like glass. “Don’t you watch the news?” he asked, after a moment.

            Again, Shion thought about reaching out. Touching him, just his cheek, just a few strands of his hair to tuck them behind his ear.

            “You’re sick. That’s okay – ”

            “I’m broken.” Nezumi said it like a fact, like it was indisputable.

            Shion shook his head. That was not something Nezumi would say. Nezumi, who didn’t believe in self-pity. Nezumi, who didn’t acknowledge weakness in himself. Nezumi, who moved on, got stronger when he was hit, fought to keep going when he’d had the hardest life of anyone Shion knew. “You’re not broken.”

            “You don’t know everything.”

            “I know you,” Shion insisted. “I know you’ve lost something that was your only connection to the life you had and the people who loved you. I know that must hurt. I know that must be scary. But you don’t have to go through this alone, please, Nezumi, talk to me, or at least talk to someone – ”

            “I’m not depressed,” Nezumi said abruptly, and Shion blinked at him, surprised.

            “I didn’t say you were,” he said slowly.

            Nezumi stood up, and Shion scrambled to his feet as well.

            “It wouldn’t mean anything if you were. You know that,” Shion said slowly, wondering why Nezumi had said this. Now that the idea was in his head, Shion considered it as a possibility, thought parts of the disease would fit Nezumi’s demeanor from what he knew, but Shion didn’t know enough about depression to say for sure, and he hated making assumptions. He only knew what he’s read from textbooks from the library, and he didn’t know enough about what was going on with Nezumi to diagnosis him either.

            He knew the fire department was required to have a therapist for the crew. Knew Nezumi would be averse to speaking to a therapist, but also knew it could help. And Nezumi needed help.

            “Nezumi – ”

            “Satoshi said it. He’s an idiot. He read it online.”

            Shion took a breath to steady himself. His neck still felt sore, and he wondered if it was red, if Nezumi’s handprint was left on his skin. “Well, Satoshi shouldn’t be diagnosing you from something he read on the internet as he’s not a doctor. But I’m sure he’s just concerned.”

            “He shouldn’t be. He’s a stranger.”

            Shion wrapped his hands around his arms so he wouldn’t touch Nezumi. “It’s okay to let people care about you. We just want to help you. We just want you to feel better. That shouldn’t make you angry, Nezumi. If you keep pushing people away, there won’t be anyone left.”

            “There isn’t anyone left.”

            At this, Shion felt a hot flash of anger across his chest. “I’m standing right in front of you, telling you I love you. If you don’t love me back, that’s fine. If you don’t want to be in a relationship, that was never an obligation. But I’m not going to abandon you for that. I’m not going to leave you for anything unless you keep telling me to get away from you. And Satoshi? He wouldn’t let me see you because you told him you didn’t want to see me, and he wanted to listen to you, he wanted to respect your wishes. He cares about you. These people here, the rest of the crew, I know they care about you, I see on the news that you’re one of them. Safu cares about you. She pretends to get annoyed when I talk about you, but I see her watching the same news I do, I see her keeping tabs on you, making sure you’re okay. My mother cares about you. She asks about you still, even though you’re the guy who broke my heart, she never hated you for that. She told me to understand you after you left. She told me to try to see it from your point of view, and I used to be so angry at her for that, for taking your side. You keep insisting you’re alone, but you’re not, you don’t have to be unless that’s what you want. Is that what you want, Nezumi? Do you want to be alone?”

            Shion heard his voice rising as he spoke, but he couldn’t help it. He felt out of breath, already having been out of breath from when Nezumi pinned him to the wall, but he couldn’t stop.

            Nezumi’s eyes had widened while Shion spoke, the first sign of any emotion since Shion had seen him, and Shion stood and breathed and watched Nezumi’s eyes turn bright and wet, watched them spill over until he was raising both his hands, pressing the bottoms of his palms against his eyes.

            “No,” Nezumi said, and his voice was thick. “I don’t want that.”

            “I didn’t – I didn’t mean to yell at you,” Shion stammered, embarrassed at his outburst and worried, and Nezumi shook his head, took a deep breath, pressed harder against his eyes and moved his hands from them, reached one back into his hair, and Shion could see his fingers tighten.

            With his other hand, he rubbed at his eyes again, hard. He inhaled with a shakiness Shion could hear.

            “It’s okay.”

            “I’m sorry,” Shion said, watching Nezumi wipe at his eyes again.

            “I can’t stop,” Nezumi said, his voice mostly breath, and he sniffed loudly, wiped at his face with his sleeve now.

            “That’s okay, Nezumi.”

            Shion could see when Nezumi swallowed. Watched as Nezumi continued to cry, continued to drag his knuckles roughly over his eyes, his cheeks. “I don’t have nightmares anymore. I don’t dream of anything. It’s like I had never had a past, like they were never there, no one was ever – ” he shook his head roughly. He wasn’t exactly sobbing through his words, but his voice wasn’t completely steady either.

            Shion bit the inside of his cheek, hard. Wanted more than anything to touch Nezumi but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

            “Even if you can never control fire again, that doesn’t mean you aren’t a FireMaster. It doesn’t mean your family wasn’t your family, it doesn’t mean anything like that,” Shion said, releasing his cheek from his teeth to speak and watching Nezumi breathe hard in front of him.

            Nezumi looked at him, his eyes a wet grey that slipped between Shion’s own gaze. “What does it mean?”

            “It doesn’t have to mean anything. People change sometimes,” Shion offered, the truest answer he could give, and he remembered that this change only happened after he’d gone to see Nezumi drunk, wondered again despite what Safu had tried to assure him if, somehow, it could have been his fault – if he had been the one to change Nezumi. “Nezumi, what happened, that night I came here drunk? What did I say to you?”

            Nezumi rubbed at his eyes again, but he seemed to have stopped crying. His face, at least, was no longer wet, though his nose was pink, his eyes a little bloodshot.

            “You told me not to love you anymore,” Nezumi said, after a pause. His voice was still slightly thick, but steady now.

            “Did you stop?” Shion asked, because he couldn’t tell.

            He had thought that to be loved was an obvious thing. Before Nezumi left, Shion had known so clearly, without a doubt, despite the man never having said it.

            But so much had changed, since Nezumi left.

            “No,” Nezumi said, his gaze not wavering from Shion’s. “It was never a choice I made.”

            Shion understood. It was not a choice he’d made either, to love Nezumi, to stop, to begin again as if there weren’t two years the man had taken from him.

            But that wasn’t quite right. He didn’t love Nezumi the same way.

            Before, his love had been endless, infinite, it had consumed him, and Shion remembered the way it had felt as if to be with Nezumi was only right, was only the way his life was supposed to be. He had felt drawn to Nezumi, as if to be beside the man was where he was meant.

            Shion no longer felt that way. He didn’t think there was anywhere he was _meant_ to be. There was only where he was, and where he wanted to be, and where he could be, and he did not know if they were the same. He didn’t think Nezumi was his destiny. He didn’t think Nezumi was his fate, his other half, tied to him by any invisible string.

            He understood now that there was no such thing as destiny. There was only time, and what would happen within it, the decisions he could make based on the options before him, and Nezumi was not some end-all-be-all.

            He was just another option, but he was the option Shion loved, and that made him different.

            That made him worth coming back to. That made him worth fighting for. That made him worth giving another chance.

            “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I had no right to tell you what to feel,” Shion said.

            Nezumi just looked at him, and then he was reaching out, and Shion was certain Nezumi would touch his cheek the way he used to, trace the scar on his face, but instead Nezumi’s hand didn’t raise past Shion’s neck, and Shion felt just the tips of Nezumi’s fingers grazing his skin where his hand had been gripping only a few minutes before.

            “I’m fine,” Shion said. Nezumi touched him so lightly it almost tickled, and Shion had the urge to shy away, but stayed completely still.

            “It’s not okay that I did that to you,” Nezumi said, and at first, Shion forgot Nezumi was even touching his neck, forgot what Nezumi was referring to, thought Nezumi meant it wasn’t okay that he’d left for two years, and it hadn’t felt okay, but Shion knew why, he understood that Nezumi had just been scared, he understood that Nezumi had just been worried.

            But Nezumi was not talking about leaving. He was talking about his hand around Shion’s throat. He was talking about slamming Shion against the wall.

            “It know it’s not okay,” Shion said, and Nezumi pulled his hand back.

            “I think I need help,” Nezumi said, his words hesitant and slow as if he was still considering them even as he spoke them, as if he was almost wary of them.

            Shion reached up, touched his own neck where Nezumi’s fingers had just been. His skin felt hot, as if Nezumi had left a burn there, but of course he hadn’t.

            “We’ll get you some. I promise, I’ll be with you,” Shion said, though he was unsure if he’d even heard Nezumi correctly.

            Nezumi nodded, looked away from him, reached up and ran his fingers through his bangs, looked back at him again.

            “Can I hug you?” he asked, his words jerky, and Shion felt relief like a gush of warmth in his core.

            He didn’t bother answering, stepped forward and hugged Nezumi and felt the man stiffen for only a moment before relaxing completely, his body thinner than Shion remembered against his as his arms wrapped around Shion’s back.

            Shion felt Nezumi press his face into his shoulder. Felt the man’s arms tighten, and Shion wrapped his arms just as securely.

            Wanted Nezumi to understand that as long as Nezumi let him, Shion would not let go.

*

Nezumi allowed Shion to take him to his apartment because he missed Shion.

            It was no more complicated than that. He didn’t want to return to his bunkroom in the station, he didn’t want to be alone any longer, he wanted to say yes when Shion asked if he’d come home with him, and so he had.

            Nezumi was tired of thinking over every decision. Of weighing the pros and cons, of choosing what was right, what was wisest, what was safest, of ignoring what he wanted because what he wanted didn’t matter. Thinking like this had kept him alive when he’d been a kid and abandoned, when he’d been a teenager and guarded, when he’d become an adult and hardened.

            Now, Nezumi was not in danger. Was not fighting for his survival. Was not on his own.

            And he didn’t want to be.

            Nezumi also wanted to touch Shion. Liked the contact of him, the warmth of him, the solidity of him, a reassurance that he was there. But this, he refrained from.

            Allowed himself to hug the man, to hold him once, tightly, briefly, then let go and left distance between them, did not reach out to touch Shion despite wanting to, just small touches for assurance, just Shion’s wrist, or his shoulder, or the back of his hand – he wanted to, but he didn’t.

            Shion’s apartment was smaller than the one he’d shared with Safu. Nezumi hadn’t brought any of his clothing – not that he had much – but he didn’t know that he was moving in with Shion, and didn’t really care to think that far.

            Tonight, it was enough to simply be near Shion.

            Nezumi did not bother waiting to see what Shion expected. He asked if it would be all right if he slept on the couch, and Shion hadn’t argued, had brought out blankets and a pillow for Nezumi, then offered Nezumi a towel for a shower.

            When Nezumi got out of the shower, he sat at Shion’s kitchen counter and accepted the mug of tea Shion offered.

            Shion sat across from him, traced the rim of his mug with his forefinger.

            Nezumi’s hair was still wet and stuck to his cheeks. He tucked it back behind his ears, then cupped his hands around his tea. He didn’t have anything to say. He hadn’t spoken over a handful of words in weeks.

            He still felt empty, and that included words, his voice.

            “Are you sure you won’t eat anything? If you don’t want dinner, I have some muffins that my mom baked. They’re blueberry.”

            Nezumi leaned down. Blew across the surface of his tea. Shook his head. “No, thank you.”

            “You are eating properly, right?” Shion asked, a slight reprimanding tint to his tone, and Nezumi glanced up at him.

            “I’m fine.”

            “If you’re going to stay here, you’re not going to starve yourself. You’ll take care of yourself, understood?”

            Nezumi loosened his hands from his mug of tea, pressed them to his bare arms to transfer the warmth from the cup to his skin.

            Shion had lent him a t-shirt and sweats to sleep in. It wasn’t cold in Shion’s apartment, and Nezumi had showered with hot water, but Nezumi hadn’t felt properly warm since his fire had gone from him.

            “I don’t starve myself,” he said, because he didn’t.

            He ate at least one meal a day. He made sure of it. He was never hungry, but he ate. He took care of himself despite a lack of motivation to do so, despite the fading of his previous instincts.

            “Okay. Well, do you need anything?” Shion asked, leaning forward slightly, and Nezumi leaned back.

            “No.”

            Shion bit his lip, then nodded, stood up, leaving his tea on the counter. “I think I’ll go to bed then. If you need anything, I’ll leave my door open. And if you’re hungry in the night, there’s some food in the fridge, some stuff in the pantry, not a wide selection though, sorry. I’ll head out tomorrow for more groceries, I’ve been putting it off. Are you sure the couch will be all right? The bed is wide, and of course we don’t have to – We wouldn’t – I don’t expect – ”

            “The couch is all right,” Nezumi interrupted, and Shion looked at him a moment, then nodded.

            “Goodnight, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi looked back down at his tea, listened to Shion’s soft footsteps as he left the kitchen, but then there was his voice again, from the doorway where the kitchen led off into the short hallway.

            “I’m glad you’re here,” Shion said, but by the time Nezumi turned around, Shion was gone again.

            Nezumi looked back at his tea, his mug still full, then stood up, glanced in Shion’s mug and found it full as well.

            Nezumi drank a sip of his own, felt the warmth of it on his tongue, but by the time the liquid slid down through his chest to his stomach, it felt cooled, even icy.

            Nezumi took both mugs, emptied them in the sink, washed them both, dried them carefully, and replaced them, having to search in a few cupboards before finding one with another two mugs on its first shelf.

            He looked around Shion’s small kitchen, opened a few drawers just to familiarize himself, opened the fridge and saw that there was indeed a plate with three blueberry muffins on it wrapped in plastic wrap. There was also a head of broccoli and a half-empty bag of sliced bread and a gallon jug of milk that appeared to have only an inch of milk left within it. The rest of the fridge was empty.

            Nezumi closed the door, went to the pantry, found two boxes of pasta and an assortment of half empty spices along with a jar of peanut butter, tea, coffee, a box of cereal, and an unopened bag of marshmallows.

            Nezumi stared at the sparse contents. He didn’t know how Shion could be so concerned with Nezumi’s health when clearly he wasn’t paying too much attention to his own, but it wasn’t Nezumi’s business. He closed the pantry and left the kitchen, walking to the couch in what was really too small to be called a living room.

            He laid down, pulled the blankets Shion had given him over him. He slipped his hands under his t-shirt, flattened them against his torso in an attempt to warm his fingers, which had started feeling numb at the tips for weeks now.

            Nezumi knew it was not a sudden decline in his circulation that had him constantly cold. It was the absence of his fire, and he was learning to be used to it, but he didn’t want this to be what was normal.

            He wanted to feel warm again. He wanted to feel anything.

            Lying on Shion’s couch, even shivering as he did so, felt like a step towards this want. When Nezumi closed his eyes, he fell asleep almost instantly.

*


	19. Chapter 19

Nezumi had been living in Shion’s apartment for three weeks.

            He had also been going to therapy for three weeks, as well as sleeping on Shion’s couch for three weeks.

            Shion was incredibly proud of Nezumi for the former, knew how hard it was on the man and could see Nezumi changing in small ways – he began reading again, sometime at the end of the first week, and he talked more, though still not very much – his sarcasm was still absent, as was the easy smirk Shion hadn’t realized he would miss as much as he did.

            As for the latter – the couch where Nezumi slept – Shion was not as content.

            He didn’t know why Nezumi was sleeping on the couch. He didn’t know if Nezumi wanted distance, if Nezumi did not want to be in a relationship, if Nezumi was unsure of his own wants, if Nezumi wanted nothing at all.

            Shion knew what he wanted, and that was for Nezumi to sleep beside him again. Even if they did not touch, even if they did not sleep with limbs overlapping, to have Nezumi beside him simply to keep the bed warm was a wish Shion forced himself to keep quiet.

            He wasn’t going to rush Nezumi. He wasn’t going to scare him.

            Nezumi still worked at the fire department and spent two or three nights a week sleeping at the fire station when he had night duty. There weren’t many fires, but if there ever were, Shion knew Nezumi was allowed only to hose down the flames, but not to enter buildings since he didn’t have proper training.

             When Shion woke up on a Sunday, exactly three weeks after Nezumi had been living with him, he left the bathroom after washing his face and brushing his teeth to find Nezumi folding the blankets he slept with and placing them on the corner of the couch.

            “How long are you going to sleep on the couch?” Shion asked, and Nezumi looked up at him.

            “Morning.”

            Shion leaned against the armrest of the couch, traced a line onto the fabric of it with his fingertip. “You’re too tall for it. If this is what you want, that’s fine, but we could look at some other apartments, some with two rooms so you could have a bed, at least. I don’t think we could fit a mattress in here, it’s more of a living space than a living room. And we could get a dresser for your clothes.”

            Nezumi rustled his fingers through his bangs, scattered from sleep. His features were gentle the way they were in mornings, careworn eyes and mussed hair, parted lips and clumsy fingers, creases in his cheek from the pillowcase.

            “I don’t need my own room.”

            Shion shrugged. “You could think about it. I can’t imagine the couch is good for your back. Do you want eggs?”

            “Okay. Thank you,” Nezumi said, and Shion walked into the kitchen, glanced behind him to see Nezumi disappear down the hallway into the bathroom.

            Shion made sure he always had a stocked fridge now that Nezumi was living with him, and took out a pack of bacon to prepare as well, popping it into the microwave to defrost before he started chopping onions, garlic, cilantro, spinach, and bell peppers to make omelets with.

            He was concerned about Nezumi’s health, unsure about the man’s eating habits even now that Nezumi lived with him. Shion was at work during most of the day in the week, and had a feeling Nezumi did not eat anything at all during this time, though he did have dinner with Shion every night, at least.

            On weekends, therefore, Shion made sure to cook a lot, knowing if he made it, Nezumi would eat it, even if only out of some sense of obligation. It was because of this new routine that Shion realized he also had not been eating as well as he probably should have. Taking care of Nezumi led to taking care of himself, which Safu pointed out as a good thing.

            “I’ve been telling you to eat more for years, but of course it takes Nezumi to actually improve your behavior,” she’d told him, a few days before when they’d gotten coffee.

            She still had not seen Nezumi since he’d been living with Shion, though she asked to come over frequently.

            Shion wasn’t sure Nezumi would be up to the company. He still seemed a little fragile, a little unwell.

            Shion put on tea while the eggs and bacon were in pans on the stove, and by the time Nezumi emerged from the bathroom, Shion was able to slide a mug onto the counter for him.

            “Did you sleep all right?” he asked.

            Nezumi was soundless in sleep. Shion had come out of his own room one night for a glass of water and watched Nezumi for several minutes, noted that the man didn’t move at all, hardly looked as if he was breathing so that Shion had stepped closer, held his hand an inch from Nezumi’s nose to make sure he could feel the man’s breaths.

            Shion knew Nezumi didn’t have nightmares anymore. He also knew this wasn’t completely a good thing, as they had been Nezumi’s last connection to his family, and he knew Nezumi missed them.

            Nezumi shrugged at Shion’s question, pulled his tea closer to him and sipped at it even though it was scorching hot, must have burned his lips and tongue, though Nezumi did not wince.

            Shion turned from him, flipped over the bacon and their omelets. “What are you doing today?” he asked, not looking away from the stove. Usually, Nezumi had weekend duty at the station, but he was off this weekend, and he also didn’t have a therapist appointment today.

            Shion glanced over his shoulder at Nezumi when the man didn’t respond.

            “Nezumi?”

            Nezumi looked up from his tea, which he’d been staring at. “What?”

            “I asked what you were doing today.”

            “Dunno. Nothing.”

            Shion bit his lip, looked back at the stove and turned off the bacon. “We could do something, since we both have off work.”

            Nezumi was quiet. Shion busied himself, spreading a paper towel over a plate to catch the grease before pouring the bacon onto it, checking the eggs and determining them finished and sliding each onto its own plate before bringing the plates to the counter, as well as his mug of tea, before sitting across from Nezumi.

            “Thank you,” Nezumi said quietly, touching his omelet with the tip of his fork.

            Shion bit on the end of a piece of bacon. “Are you finished your books? We could go to the library.”

            “I went to the library yesterday,” Nezumi said, glancing up quickly at Shion before looking back at his plate.

            Shion was not deterred. “What if we saw a show at the theater? I think they’re putting on a Shakespearean comedy, I forget which one.”

            He watched Nezumi cut his omelet up with the side of his fork without eating any of it.

            “Nezumi.”

            Nezumi looked at him again.

            “I think we should do something you’ll enjoy today. It’s important to do things you like.”

            “I like to read,” Nezumi said, after a moment.

            “You don’t like to do anything but read?” Shion asked, trying not to feel exasperated.

            Nezumi did not talk about his therapy but for once, when Shion asked him about it, and Nezumi replied that his therapist suggested getting involved in activities he took pleasure in as a way to find himself again.

            From what Shion could tell, Nezumi was not getting himself involved in many activities.

            “I like silence,” Nezumi said after a moment, looking at Shion quickly before drinking more tea.

            Shion wasn’t sure if this was sarcasm or not. He assumed not.

            “Reading and silence,” Shion listed.

            “Reading and silence,” Nezumi repeated.

            “Well, what about what I like?” Shion asked, changing tactics, and Nezumi glanced at him again.

            “Why should I care what you like?”

            “We’re roommates, at the very least. You should care what I like,” Shion replied.

            “Fine. What do you like?” Nezumi asked, and Shion was surprised at this.

            He thought about it. “I like reading too. I also like spending time with you, and the theater. So let’s go to see a show tonight.”

            Nezumi just looked at him.

            “I didn’t make you breakfast for you to cut it up and rearrange it around your plate. Eat,” Shion added, pointing at Nezumi’s plate.

            “Okay.”

            “You can’t just say okay, I can see clearly that you still aren’t eating.”

            “Okay, we can go to the theater tonight to see a show,” Nezumi said.

            “Really?” Shion asked, leaning forward.

            “Yes,” Nezumi said, not looking at him and stabbing a chunk of his omelet, lifting it to his lips and finally eating.

            Shion bit his lip to stop himself from smiling. “I don’t know what times the shows are, but I’ll check. We should get dinner too beforehand.”

            “Okay,” Nezumi said again, after he stopped chewing.

            His sudden cooperation was suspicious. “Why are you being so agreeable?” Shion asked.

            “Do you want me to stop?” Nezumi asked, a slight edge to his tone, and it was so like the old Nezumi that Shion couldn’t help but stare, felt his heart beat harder in his chest.

            The Nezumi he lived with was much like a stranger to him, but there were flashes of the old Nezumi, and each time they took Shion’s breath away, each time he felt himself longing for the man he’d fallen in love with years before.

            He didn’t need Nezumi to become the man he had been. That man had his own faults as well, and that man had left Shion, after all.

            But Shion wanted Nezumi to feel better, to feel more like himself, and in these small moments he could see that, the real Nezumi, back to him once again.

            It would take time, and Shion knew that. He had always been a patient person, would wait weeks, would wait months, would wait years to have Nezumi back.

            To have him near was enough for now. To have these small moments was overwhelming enough on their own.

*

Nezumi had been living with Shion for nearly two months.

            He slept on the couch but for the nights he was at the station, such as currently. He’d just left the bathroom to return to his bunkroom when he heard his name being called and turned, recognizing Satoshi’s voice before he saw the man down the hall, his head sticking out the door of another bunkroom.

            “Nezumi! Hey. Come help me with something,” Satoshi said, then disappeared back into his room, and Nezumi stared at the absence of him for a moment before changing course and heading to Satoshi’s room.

            Unlike Nezumi, the other firefighters shared rooms with each other, and there were two other firefighters in the room along with Satoshi when Nezumi walked in.

            They appeared to be asleep on their bunks. It was, after all, some odd hour of the early morning.

            “What time is it?” Nezumi asked Satoshi, who was crouched beside his own bunk.

            “Uh, three fifteen,” Satoshi said, glancing at his watch. “You know how to tighten a screw with a screwdriver?”

            Nezumi figured it was a rhetorical question, since anyone could do that.

            “Well, get over here.”

            Nezumi walked over, crouched beside Satoshi when Satoshi beckoned for Nezumi to lower down.

            “You’ve got skinnier arms, I need you to reach back and screw in this screw. I can’t fit my own arm back there between the bed and the wall.”

            “What are you doing?” Nezumi asked.

            “Tightening a screw.”

            Nezumi just stared at him, and Satoshi laughed.

            “You better watch out, one day I’m gonna get a laugh out of you. The frame’s loose, it’s been bugging the hell out of me and those assholes took the good bunks. Here.”

            Nezumi took the screwdriver Satoshi handed to him, and they switched places, Nezumi moving closer to the wall and finding that his arm did indeed fit into the small space.

            “See the screw?”

            “Yes,” Nezumi said, fitting the tip of the screwdriver into it, tightening it slowly, the screwdriver falling out of place every once in a while from the odd angle.

            “So how you been doing? Haven’t had a shift with you in a while,” Satoshi said, while Nezumi adjusted his sitting position.

            “Fine.”

            “You look better. Healthier, I mean. Not that you didn’t look healthy before. Well, no, you didn’t, actually.”

            Nezumi said nothing to this.

            “I’ve been well too. I’ve been thinking, you know, maybe it’s time I had a kid, they’re kind of cute and it’d be nice to do the dad thing, teach them how to ride a bike, get in fights with them about curfews, pretend I know the wise lessons of life while they trust me undoubtedly like the suckers they are, that sort of stuff. I told my wife and she laughed at me. What’s that about?”

            “Why are you telling me this?” Nezumi asked.

            “I know I can’t count on you to fill in the silence. We’re friends, I’m telling you about my life like friends do.”

            “We’re not friends.”

            “I knew you were going to say that. How’s Shion?”

            Nezumi finished tightening the screw and pulled his arm free, rubbing his shoulder. He handed the screwdriver to Satoshi and stood up. “Is that all you wanted?”

            Satoshi stood up as well. “No. I’m hungry and I want a sandwich, come down to the kitchen with me and keep me company while I eat one. I might even make you one if you’re nice.”

            “I’m going to bed.”

            “As far as friends go, you’re a pretty awful one, you know,” Satoshi said cheerfully.

            Nezumi stared at him. “We’re not friends.”

            “Exhibit A – You shouldn’t tell your friends that.”

            “Goodnight,” Nezumi replied, walking away from him and heading to the door.

            “Thanks for screwing in the screw!” Satoshi called after him before Nezumi closed Satoshi’s door behind him and returned to his own bunkroom.

            Nezumi sat on the edge of his bed, but wasn’t tired. He didn’t like the nights he slept at the station, preferring Shion’s couch, knowing that Shion was in the other room.

            He still hadn’t touched Shion. They sometimes went to the theater, they sometimes went out for dinner, they sometimes went to the library together or just on walks around town.

            Nezumi thought about holding Shion’s hand, but never did it.

            He still did not feel right. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. There was the emptiness, the constant of it, and he didn’t understand why it wasn’t gone now, why it hadn’t been filled, why everything still seemed muted and vague and unfocused, slow, heavy.

            He was around Shion. He lived with him, he ate with him, he could see very clearly that Shion loved and cared for him despite the indifference Nezumi offered in return.

            Nezumi didn’t want to offer indifference. He wanted to give more, he wanted to be what Shion wanted back, but he couldn’t.

            He didn’t know why. His fire was gone, but he was learning to deal with that, he was getting help dealing with that, he just wanted to feel better, he just wanted to feel anything at all.

            Nezumi laid back on his bed. He almost wanted the sirens to go off, signaling a fire, an excuse to get up, to do something.

            He didn’t enjoy putting out fires. He didn’t like being around fire at all, as it was just a reminder of his disconnect with them.

            But it was better than lying in his bed, unable to sleep, wondering why he wasn’t better yet, how long it would take, if it would ever happen at all, or if this was it.

*

After ten weeks, Shion decided that Nezumi sleeping on the couch was ridiculous.

            He told Nezumi this while Nezumi read a book at the kitchen counter and Shion attempted to get work done across from him, but really couldn’t stop thinking about how ridiculous it was that it had been two and a half months, and Nezumi still was on the couch.

            “It’s ridiculous that you’re sleeping on the couch,” he said, more loudly than he’d intended, and Nezumi glanced up from his book, the tip of his forefinger resting on the page where he must have stopped.

            “What?” he asked, blinking and looking unfocused, and Shion had a feeling he was still halfway into his book.

            “I said, it’s ridiculous that you’re still sleeping on the couch,” Shion said, at a much more reasonable volume.

            “Why is it ridiculous?” Nezumi asked, sounding genuinely confused, and Shion stared at him.

            “Are you still physically attracted to me?” Shion asked, and Nezumi’s lips parted.

            “What?” he asked again.

            “Stop saying what.”

            “I’m processing. You’re saying bizarre things. Which is normal for you, I guess, but it’s more bizarre than usual.”

            “Are you going to answer me?” Shion asked.

            “If I’m attracted to you?” Nezumi asked, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear, and his book closed in the absence of his finger on the page.

            “Are you?” Shion asked, trying not to sound impatient. Nezumi was usually much more quick-witted than this.

            Nezumi narrowed his eyes slightly in clear confusion. “Yes,” he finally said, his answer sounding more like a question.

            “Are you still interested in sex?” Shion asked, the thought just occurring to him that Nezumi had lost his libido, which he knew was a possibility when people went through significant changes in their mental health.

            “Do you hear what you’re saying?” Nezumi asked.

            “Yes. Do you? Because if you do, you should answer.”

            Nezumi weaved his fingers through his bangs. “Yes, I’m still interested in sex.”

            “Your libido may have changed, that’s normal I think.”

            “It hasn’t changed,” Nezumi replied, his tone a little more forceful than before.

            “Okay. If you still find me attractive, and you’re still interested in sex, then is it a correct conclusion that you want to have sex with me?”

            “I guess,” Nezumi said slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Can you stop asking me weird questions in such a straightforward way? It’s sort of disturbing.”

            “I’m also still interested in having sex with you. And seeing as we both have already clarified that we still love each other, I don’t see why you are sleeping on the couch. Hence my previous statement that it’s ridiculous for you to be sleeping there at all. Is it that you’re still worried about hurting me with your fire? Because that’s not really an issue anymore,” Shion reminded, while Nezumi stared at him in an incredulous sort of way.

            “I’m not worried about hurting you with fire,” Nezumi finally said, after several seconds.

            “So why are you still sleeping on the couch?” Shion demanded.

            Nezumi just looked at him for half a minute, and just when Shion was certain he wouldn’t answer, he did. “I don’t know,” he said.

            “You don’t know.”

            “Shion – ” Nezumi closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then opened his eyes again. “No, I don’t know.”

            Shion had not been expecting this, and sat back, considered it. “You don’t know,” he said again, thinking the words over.

            “Can you stop repeating that?” Nezumi asked, flattening his hand over his eyes and sounding frustrated.

            “I’m the one processing now. If you’re allowed to process, so am I. If you don’t know, does that mean you’ll stop sleeping on the couch?”

            “I don’t know,” Nezumi said again, not moving his hand from his eyes.

            Shion forced himself not to sigh. “Do you want to sleep on the couch?” Shion asked, deciding if Nezumi was truly confused, maybe they could simplify it.

            “Stop asking me things. I don’t know, Shion.”

            “You don’t know if you want to sleep on the couch?”

            “Shut up.”

            “Do you want to have sex with me?”

            “You already asked me that.”

            “And you said yes. So why can’t we do that, if it’s what you want?” Shion asked, trying to be reasonable, and Nezumi dropped his hand from his face to glare at him.

            “I don’t know, Shion, I don’t know why we can’t do that. All right? Will you stop asking me questions? I don’t have answers, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know why I can’t sleep on your goddamn bed, I just don’t know,” Nezumi snapped, his voice raising with each word, and when he finished he seemed to deflate, his shoulders falling, his hand rising to his face again, pressing on his temples.           

            “There’s nothing wrong with you, Nezumi,” Shion finally said, gently.

            “Obviously, there is.”

            “You’re getting better.”

            “I don’t feel better.”

            “What do you feel?” Shion asked, tentative, not wanting to upset him again, but needing to know.

            Nezumi didn’t talk about himself, what he felt. And he never had, but now it was important, it felt important.

            “I really don’t want to talk about this with you,” Nezumi mumbled.

            “Why not?”

            “Shion, can you drop it?”

            “No, I can’t, actually. What you feel is important to me.”

            “I don’t give a shit if it’s important to you, staying sane is important to me, and I can’t do that if you’re going to ask me questions nonstop,” Nezumi snapped.

            Shion contemplated him, then nodded. “Okay. But can I ask you one more question?”

            “Jesus, Shion.”           

            “You can choose not to answer,” Shion said, and Nezumi just looked at him.

            After neither of them said anything for half a minute, Nezumi interrupted the silence rather abruptly. “Well, are you going to spit it out?”

            “Can I kiss you? Just right now, this isn’t indefinite permission or anything, I don’t want you to think it is. I just want to kiss you once, at least,” Shion said, while Nezumi continued to stare at him. “What?” Shion asked, when Nezumi said nothing for a full minute.

            “I forgot about the stupid shit you could say.”

            “That’s not an answer. And I wouldn’t have to ask if you were more clear on what exactly you want out of this relationship. I thought you’d let me know, but it’s been two and a half months. It’s gotten to the point where asking is apparently necessary.”

            “Stop talking so much.”

            “Do you always have to be difficult? Can you just answer a question in a straightforward way?” Shion asked, exasperated.

            “Okay, okay,” Nezumi said, sounding as exasperated as Shion felt.

            “Okay, what?” Shion asked, confused.

            “Didn’t you just ask me a question and demand an answer? I’m answering you, stop being so annoying, it’s like you’re doing it on purpose,” Nezumi said, his eyes narrowed.

            “Okay, I can kiss you?”

            Nezumi squinted at Shion. “Do you want me to hit you?”

            “You’re giving conflicting signals, I’m sure you can understand my confusion,” Shion replied.

            Nezumi shook his head, stood up from his stool and muttered something under his breath that sounded a little like – _Fucking unbelievable_ – as he walked around the counter to stand in front of Shion, who at first thought Nezumi was indeed going to hit him.

            But of course he didn’t. He reached out, his hand tilting up Shion’s chin even though Shion was already looking up at him, and then Nezumi leaned forward, and he kissed Shion in a solid way, not quite softly but not too hard, just there, the contact of lips that were slightly parted, the warmth from Nezumi’s skin, the sweep of Nezumi’s exhale over Shion’s upper lip, the slight pressure of the tip of Nezumi’s nose against his cheek, and it felt cold in an unexpected way, just as Nezumi’s fingers around Shion’s jawline chilled his skin.

            Shion reached up. Wanted more of him touching Nezumi than just their lips and the tip of Nezumi’s nose and the small points of his cold fingertips. Rested one hand over Nezumi’s cheek and the other around Nezumi’s shoulder, pulling him closer, slipping the hand over Nezumi’s shoulder closer to Nezumi’s neck to cup the side of it, feeling loose strands of Nezumi’s hair tickle the sides of his fingers.

            Nezumi pulled away from him, and Shion’s hands fell from his skin just as Nezumi’s hand disappeared from Shion’s.

            “I don’t want you to be confused. I want you. I just need time,” Nezumi said, and Shion swallowed, touched his lips with his fingertips, nodded.

            “Okay.”

            “Can you wait?”

            “Yes.”

            “All right. Stop yelling at me for sleeping on the couch.”

            “We don’t have to have sex if you sleep on my bed,” Shion said, while Nezumi turned away from him, grabbed his book from the counter and walked into the living space.

            Nezumi sat against the armrest of the couch with his back to Shion and opened his book.

            “Didn’t I just say I needed time?”

            “I won’t even touch you,” Shion insisted. “We can have a buffer of pillows and wear layers of clothing in case there’s accidental contact.”

            “Shut up, Shion,” Nezumi sighed, and Shion smiled, his fingers still over his lips as he watched Nezumi pull his hair up into a ponytail.

            Shion looked back at his notes from work, distracted as he had been before, though this time it was with thinking about Nezumi’s lips on his, how solid they’d been, how certain, as if however much Nezumi felt he didn’t know, he’d had no doubts about this kiss.

*

After four months of living with Shion again, Nezumi was in Karan’s bakery for the first time since he’d returned to the city.

            Karan had only smiled at him when he’d come in and asked him to ice a cake she’d been letting cool, and he preferred that, did not know what he would say to her anyway.

            He had mostly finished, but was evening out the icing on one side of the cake when Karan spoke to him again.

            “If you use the side of a butter knife, it’s easier to even it out,” Karan said, and Nezumi glanced up at her, put down the icing scraper he’d been using, and took the butter knife she offered.

            “Thanks.”

            “It’s smaller, so you have more control,” Karan said, while Nezumi leaned over the cake again.

            He waited for Karan to say something else, to ask him how he felt now that he couldn’t use fire, to tell him that he was no less of whom he’d ever been without it, to tell him that things would get better, to give some advice or let him know that she’d missed him while he was gone and was glad he’d come back.

            But she didn’t say anything. She only started humming, moving around the kitchen, and when she did speak it was only to give Nezumi another task, another cake to ice or pie to take out of the oven or a batch of chocolate chip cookies to whip up or a dish to help her reach from the top cupboard.

            “I don’t know why I even put those up there,” she said, smiling at Nezumi as he handed the cupcake pan to her. “Thank you.”

            “It’s fine,” Nezumi said, but really he wanted to thank her back.

            To thank her for not treating him any differently than she had before. For letting him pretend that there was nothing wrong, that no time had passed at all since the last time he could remember being happy, in this same city, in this same kitchen, baking with Shion’s mother and knowing he would be returning to the apartment he and Shion shared with Safu later that night.

            So much had changed, but Karan allowed them to pretend that nothing had, and Nezumi hadn’t known it was possible to feel as grateful for anyone as he did to her for this simple thing.

            By nightfall, the bakery was cleaned and closed, and he and Shion had returned to Shion’s apartment. Shion bid Nezumi good night and disappeared into his room while Nezumi laid back on the couch, thinking that the day in the bakery had been a good day, and it had felt like such a long time since he’d had a good day.

            He settled into the cushions of the couch, pulled his blanket over his shoulder, but found that he didn’t feel as cold as he usually did, wasn’t shivering at all when he finally fell asleep.

*

Shion had seen Nezumi smile for the first time since the man had come back to the city months before.

            They’d spent the entire day at his mother’s bakery, Shion manning the front and popping into the kitchen when it was slow while Nezumi and his mother baked.

            He’d only caught Nezumi’s smile at the very end of the day, when Karan had been piling Tupperware containers of leftover baked goods in both Nezumi’s and his own arms to take home.

            “Mom, it’s too much,” Shion had said, struggling to keep the containers in his arms.

            “Of course it’s not,” Karan had said. “And you shouldn’t let so much time go by without coming to help, I’m an old lady, you know, you should be in here more often.”

            “You’re not old, Mom,” Shion had said.

            “Am I old, Nezumi? You can be honest with me.”

            “Um. No.”

            Karan had laughed. “Oh, dear, you’re almost as bad at lying as you are at making chocolate chip cookies. I gave you your batch, by the way, I think Shion has the box of them.”

            “What’s wrong with them?” Shion had asked, curious and glancing at Nezumi, who shifted the containers in own his arms.

            “I forgot to add the chocolate chips.”

            Shion had stared, then started laughing, unable to help himself, and it was only as he was calming himself down, worried he’d drop the Tupperware containers he carried, that he caught Nezumi’s smile, the softest lift of his lips that had Shion’s breath catching in his throat.

            He had seen so many of Nezumi’s smiles, so many different types of Nezumi’s smiles, before Nezumi had left.

            He had not known to cherish them. He had not known to protect them, to memorize them – the sleepy smiles of Nezumi’s early morning, the sarcastic smiles when Nezumi made fun of him, the amused smiles when Nezumi would shake his head or roll his eyes, the breathy smiles if Nezumi was laughing, the smiles pressed to his skin when they made love, the wide smiles when Nezumi made a joke, the soft smiles when Nezumi read something that charmed him, the stiff smiles that didn’t reach his eyes when Nezumi was angry and scathing.

            There had been so many smiles he’d seen from this man that he hadn’t thought he’d have to treasure them until they were gone completely, and now here was one, the first one in such a long time, and Shion wanted to take it from Nezumi’s lips, to drop the boxes of baked goods and cup the smile in his palms, to take it home and trap in a jar like a lightning bug that he could place on his nightstand to glow in the dark of his room at night, to keep him warm even though smiles did not have a temperature – but they could, Shion knew this, had felt Nezumi’s smiles pressed into the bare skin of his neck, his shoulder, his waist, his palm, the insides of his thighs and the backs of his shoulder blades and the hollow at the base of his throat.

            It seemed like a lifetime ago that Shion felt these smiles, but maybe, he thought, he could feel them again one day, maybe this was the first of many, maybe there would be more.

            Shion fell asleep that night, alone in his bed, thinking of Nezumi’s smile from just a few hours before and hoping he would dream of the way it might have felt had it been pressed to Shion’s skin.

*

Nezumi was back in Karan’s bakery, and while he remembered leaving, remembered even going to bed and did not remember waking and coming back, still he was there, and Karan was there as well, asking Nezumi to take a pie out of the oven.  

            He opened the oven, and it was filled with fire that he stepped back from, confused at the heat all around him – there was no reason for it to be around him, for it to be everywhere, it should have just been in the oven, but then there wasn’t an oven at all, there wasn’t a kitchen at all, there was just his village and there was not Shion’s mother but his own, fast asleep.

            “Mom!” Nezumi shouted, but his voice came out as a cough, and he felt his back burning, and there was fire everywhere, but Nezumi could do nothing about it, could not feel it, was not connected to it as he should have been, as he was supposed to be.

            Nezumi closed his eyes. When he inhaled there was only smoke.

            “The pie is burning, Nezumi.”

            Nezumi wanted to get it out of the oven. Opened his eyes and was in the kitchen again and now it was the kitchen on fire, Karan next to his mother, there was his father too, his sister, the rest of his family with fire around him, and there was Shion, sitting on the counter with a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough batter in his arms, laughing and swinging his feet lightly so that his heels bounced off the shelves below the countertop.

            Shion was on fire, as was everyone else in the cramped kitchen, but he was laughing even so, and even though Nezumi was on fire as well, he felt a little safer, watching Shion laugh, his red eyes crinkled, his head tilted as he calmed down.

            “What do you feel, Nezumi?” Shion asked, and Nezumi wanted to tell Shion that he was on fire, wanted to ask Shion if he couldn’t see it, if he couldn’t feel it, if he wasn’t scared, but again when Nezumi opened his lips he only coughed the smoke that clouded his lungs.

            Nezumi shook his head. Wished he could speak to Shion, tell Shion to turn around, he’d see the fire, he’d see Nezumi’s entire family, he’d get to meet them, even if now wasn’t the best time, maybe it was the only time.

            But when he looked behind Shion, to see his family, to see the mother and his father and his sister, they were all gone.

            Everyone was gone but Shion, sitting on the counter and surrounded by fire, and then Shion was gone as well, and it was just fire, and Nezumi knew, he knew if he could consume it, he could have everyone back – the flames were just hiding the people he loved, the people who loved him, but once he consumed it, they’d be back.

            He concentrated, watched the fire coming towards him, knew it was working, but then it was on him and it was only burning and not slipping under his skin, just scorching it, branding it, scarring it, and Nezumi shouted but could not hear himself, could not hear anything.

            And then he was waking. Sweating on the couch, tangled in blankets, and he tried to sit up but fell.

            “Shit,” he breathed, pushing his bangs off his forehead, plastered to his skin from his sweat. He pushed himself up onto his knees, braced his palms against the floor, breathed hard and realized this was the first nightmare he’d had since they’d disappeared completely, the same night his fire had.

            He caught his breath. Sat back on his heels. Held his hand in front of him and looked at his empty palm, closed his eyes, and tried to conjure a fire.

            He knew before opening his eyes that there was no fire on his skin. He knew before opening his eyes that it hadn’t worked. He could feel inside of him that there was no fire to be conjured, though he swore he felt a little warm, as if there was smoke in his body, as if there was something there, as if he wasn’t completely empty.

            He opened his eyes. Looked at his empty palm. Pressed it to his chest to feel his heartbeat, how it was racing, couldn’t remember how long it had been since his heart had been anything but slow.

            He stood up, carefully, unwrapping the blanket from his legs as he did so, and intended to go to the bathroom to wash his face but instead found himself turning right in the hallway, opening Shion’s room door, closing it behind him, standing very still and listening to the fast pace of his heart.

            He looked at Shion, who slept on the side of the bed closest to the door, on his side facing him. Nezumi could see that the man was awake, looking back at him and then shifting so that he propped himself up on the side of his forearm.

            “Hi,” Nezumi said.

            “Hi,” Shion said, then rubbed at his eyes, took his knuckles away again. “I heard you shouting.”

            “Sorry.”

            “It’s okay. Was it a nightmare?”

            Nezumi nodded.

            “Do you want to sleep here?” Shion asked. His voice was heavy and quiet, like if he were to lie back down he would fall asleep again immediately.

            Nezumi nodded again, then stepped forward, walked around to the other side of the bed, sat on the edge for a moment before lying down beside Shion, leaving space between them and watching Shion roll over to face him.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” Shion asked, still sounding sleepy.

            Nezumi shook his head against the pillow. “No,” he said.

            He watched Shion close his eyes. “You can come closer if you want. I won’t bite you. Most likely,” Shion said, then smiled sleepily, and Nezumi almost reached out to touch Shion’s lips but stopped himself, left his hand instead between their chests.

            Nezumi didn’t move any closer to Shion.

            His heart beat fast enough as it was already, and after so long of feeling nothing at all, Nezumi was wary of feeling too much all at once.

*

It had been four months since Nezumi was living with him, but it was the first morning that Shion woke up beside the man.

            Nezumi was still asleep, on his side facing Shion but not touching him, a sliver of mattress spread out between them that Shion crossed easily with only his hand.

            He held up just his forefinger, touched only the tip of it to the tip of Nezumi’s nose, and not a second later Nezumi’s eyelids were fluttering, and then his eyes were opening, and Shion couldn’t help it – he laughed.

            Nezumi blinked at him, looking confused and half-asleep, and his eyes went a little cross-eyed as he tried to look at his nose, where Shion’s finger still touched.

            “It’s like your nose is an On button,” Shion managed, to explain his laughter, his words breathy because he was still laughing, and Nezumi’s eyes shifted again to stare at Shion.

            “What?” Nezumi asked, his voice scratchy.

            Shion took his finger from Nezumi’s nose. “Did you have any more nightmares?” he asked.

            Nezumi reached up, rubbed his knuckles over the tip of his nose. “No.”

            Shion liked the way Nezumi’s eyes were heavier in the mornings, the way he could almost feel it like a slight pressure on his face when Nezumi looked at him.

            “Was it nice to see your family again?” Shion asked, and Nezumi’s eyes drifted between his own.

            “Yes,” Nezumi finally said, and Shion thought about touching Nezumi again, this time his lips, or his hair, or his eyelashes, or his chest over his heartbeat, but he curled his hand against his own chest instead.

            “Were you scared I’d bite you?” Shion asked, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling at Nezumi’s sleepy confusion.

            Nezumi’s eyes narrowed only slightly, a crease falling between them that Shion wanted to press his lips against.

            “You didn’t come any closer to me,” Shion reminded.

            If anything, Nezumi only looked more confused. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re crazy?” he asked, and Shion smiled. He wanted to wake up beside Nezumi every single morning of his life.

            “I think so.”

            “Really really crazy.”

            “I might be,” Shion agreed.

            Nezumi just looked at him with his heavy, quiet eyes, and Shion would have given anything to know what he was thinking, but he knew better than to ask.

            Instead, he pushed himself up off the mattress, though he would have been content to lie beside Nezumi the entire day, the entire week, his entire life.

            It was a Monday, and he had work, and as he thought this his alarm went off.

            Shion turned, reached out to his nightstand to turn off his alarm, didn’t look back at Nezumi again because he knew if he did he wouldn’t be able to get out of this bed.

            “I’m going to shower, but I’ll leave the door unlocked if you need to pee or anything,” he said, standing up from the bed, making it to the doorway before he looked back, couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself.

            Nezumi hadn’t moved, laid on his side still, but his arm was outstretched, his hand flat against the mattress where Shion had just been lying as if he was checking to see if the sheets were warm, if Shion had been there at all.

            He was looking at Shion, and Shion looked between Nezumi’s gaze and his fingers curling against the sheet over the mattress.

            Nezumi said nothing, and Shion didn’t either, made himself turn away and leave the room, made himself keep walking, made himself not turn back around, not return to the bed where Nezumi still lay, not touch him and kiss him or if none of those then just look at him.

            Nezumi was beautiful, after all, and Shion had not forgotten that, but to be reminded of it in such a brutal way felt overwhelming.

            It was a relief to shower, and Shion kept the water cold, his skin hot enough as it was.

*

Nezumi had not made up his mind over whether he would sleep in Shion’s bed a second night or return to the couch, but he was not allowed to, as while he was standing in front of the couch considering it, Shion appeared beside him.

            “There you are,” he said, and Nezumi glanced at him.

            Shion looked from Nezumi to the couch before a look of mild exasperation crossed his features.

            “No, don’t start this again. Come on,” Shion said, reaching out and catching Nezumi’s hand in his, and Nezumi was so startled by the sudden touch that he didn’t protest when Shion pulled him to his bedroom.

            In Shion’s bed, Nezumi again left space between them, and he fully expected Shion to have something to say about it, but as usual, Shion surprised him.

            “Do you like being a firefighter?”

            Nezumi pushed his hair from his eyes. Tucked his arm under his pillow and rested his cheek on the crease of his elbow.

            “It’s a job,” he said, not having to think about it.

            He didn’t like being around fire. But most people didn’t work because they wanted to, although Shion did.

            Then again, most people weren’t Shion.

            “Does that mean you don’t like it?” Shion asked.

            “It doesn’t matter if I like it or not.”

            “I know a lot of people don’t have the privilege or opportunity to do what they like, I’m not talking about that. But if you were able to do so, to do anything, what would you do?”

            Nezumi had never thought about this before. It hadn’t occurred to him to ever think about this before.

            “Shouldn’t we be sleeping?” he asked instead.

            Shion shifted closer to him – hardly closer enough for it to count, but still closer. “Remember when you first came to the city, and then you were sent to jail, and then the NPA released you? And you had to find a job? And you applied for all those jobs – Was there any one of them you wanted more than the others?”

            Nezumi had not forgotten that he’d gone to jail, that he’d gotten out, twice, for that matter, that he’d been hated in the city all the same, that he’d had difficulty finding a job.

            He hadn’t forgotten any of it, but it felt so long ago, like a different life completely.

            “I don’t know. The theater,” Nezumi said, not thinking, and Shion immediately brightened.

            Nezumi regretted speaking.

            “Look, don’t get any ideas. I just said that so you’d shut up, I picked a random job.”

            “No, you didn’t.”

            “What do you know?”

            “You’d be an amazing actor. You’re beautiful, so anyone would pay to see you. You’re a quick-reader and great at memorizing, so the lines wouldn’t be difficult for you. And you have a really nice voice, people would want to listen to you speak. Can you sing?”

            “Shion, I’m not going to work at the theater. I have a job. You’d rather I pranced around entertaining a bunch of idiots than saved lives?”

            “I love that you save lives. I think that’s incredible and honorable and sexy. But I would prefer if you did what you wanted. I can’t imagine it’d be easy for you to be around fire,” Shion said, and Nezumi narrowed his eyes.

            “It doesn’t make a difference to me.”

            Shion frowned. “You don’t have to lie to me. I thought we were past that.”

            “What do you want from me, Shion?” Nezumi sighed, regretting not sleeping on the couch.

            Shion looked at him in a calculating way. “I want a lot of things from you, Nezumi, but most of them aren’t really relevant to this discussion.”

            Nezumi wanted too. He wanted Shion, he wanted things from Shion, but he hardly knew what they were, couldn’t name them, and if he could name them he couldn’t act on any of them.

            He contemplated Shion. “What is one thing you want from me?”

            Shion’s surprise was fleeting, quickly replaced by a look Nezumi couldn’t read. “I want you to say that you love me.”

            Nezumi had not expected this, but didn’t hesitate – didn’t need to. “I love you,” he said, and he watched Shion’s eyes widen if only slightly, his surprise returned.

            “Did you mean that, or did you just say it so I’d stop talking about your job and how you feel around fire?” Shion asked, after a pause.

            “While it’d be great if you’d stop talking completely, of course I meant it. Didn’t you already know that?”

            Shion bit his lip, and Nezumi watched the way his teeth pulled on the soft flesh. “It’s not as easy to tell as before.”

            “Since when did you need anything to be easy to understand it?”

            Shion released his lip, smiled a small smile. “I don’t, you’re right. I’m just surprised you said it. I didn’t expect you too. You never have before.”

            “I didn’t want you to be uncertain,” Nezumi said slowly, wary of Shion’s smile.

            Shion smiled frequently, but he always had. Even so, it caught Nezumi off guard. He didn’t know how he could make Shion so happy. He didn’t know how Shion could feel such happiness so easily, like it was nothing, like it took no effort at all.

            Sometimes he wanted to ask, but he never did.

            “I’m not uncertain,” Shion said.

            “Good. Can we sleep now?”

            “Okay, Nezumi,” Shion said, still smiling, and Nezumi turned away from him so he wouldn’t have to see it, wouldn’t have to feel the squeeze in his chest that it gave him.

            A part of him was jealous, he realized, and this was somewhat shocking, as he didn’t think he’d ever been jealous before.

            He wanted to feel the easy happiness Shion did. He wanted that back. He had every reason for it. He should have felt it. He was supposed to feel it.

            “Does anyone even know what love means?” Shion mused after a full minute, and Nezumi closed his eyes. “Sometimes I think about it to figure it out, but I can’t.”

            “Go to sleep.”

            “Do you know what it means?”

            “Of course I know what it means.”

            He could feel Shion shuffling beside him and opened his eyes to see that the man had propped himself up on his elbow and was looking down at Nezumi, surprisingly close.

            Nezumi glared at him.

            “What does it mean?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi contemplated not answering, but he knew he’d never get any sleep. “It means not wanting to be anywhere else,” he replied, then closed his eyes again.

            “You really think it’s that simple?”

            Nezumi lifted a hand to rest over his closed eyes, needing the added darkness. Shion was going to give him a headache.

            “Nezumi,” Shion pressed, and Nezumi dragged his hand up into his bangs, pushed his hair off his eyes and looked at Shion again.

             Shion was looking at him with bright eyes. He didn’t look the least bit tired, and Nezumi realized he didn’t feel tired either.

            “There’s nothing simple in being completely where you want to be. People are obsessed with the nostalgia of their misremembered pasts and the ideals they convince themselves will make up their futures. Hardly anyone has time for the present.”

            “Except if you’re in love,” Shion said.

            Nezumi thought about reaching up. Touching the scar on Shion’s cheek. Running his fingers through Shion’s hair.

            “I guess so,” he replied.

            Shion looked at him for another moment, then lowered himself back onto the bed, and Nezumi noticed there was no longer a space of mattress between them; he could feel Shion’s body only just slightly beside his own.

            “I think you might be right,” Shion said, and Nezumi turned, looked at him, saw that Shion’s eyes were closed now.

            “Of course I’m right.”

            He watched Shion smile again, that small smile, and knew if this exact moment stretched into eternity, he would never want anything else.

*

Nezumi had been sleeping in Shion’s bed for two full weeks.

            He’d also been having nightmares for two full weeks, waking Shion up, who would in turn wake Nezumi up, though sometimes he took his time to do so.

            He knew the nightmares must have been terrifying and awful, but they were also where Nezumi got to see his family, and after so long of not seeing them, Shion wanted to give Nezumi this time.

            At this point, Shion was waiting for several things.

            The first was for Nezumi to at least kiss him again, though more certainly would have been welcome. He wanted the casual touches from before, the clingy Nezumi from before who would sit too close to him when they read or bump into him when they walked past each other or pull on his shirt for no reason other than to pester him.

            He wanted also the passionate touches, the violent touches, the gentle touches. He wanted Nezumi to fuck him and make love to him again. He wanted Nezumi to hold him so closely at night he woke up sweating.

            The second thing Shion was waiting for was for Nezumi’s ability to control fire to return. His nightmares had, and Shion had thought this was simply the first step to an inevitable outcome. It was a reconnection to his past, it was the return of his family, his roots, and soon, Shion had figured, would be the return of Nezumi’s fire.

            He was wrong on this account as well. Nezumi did not seem able to use fire again, though he was changing in other ways – he was sarcastic again, if not as frequently as before. He joked more often, though Shion was still waiting to hear his laughter again, to see him smile as easily as he used to.

            One day after Nezumi had spent the night at the fire station, Shion came home from work to find Nezumi reading and asked if he wanted to take a walk. It was mid-February, still cold out, but for the first day in weeks the sun was shining, and Shion didn’t want to waste that.

            Nezumi put down his book, and five minutes later they were outside, bundled up. Shion wanted to hold Nezumi’s hand, but the man had his hands in his pockets.

            “Have you given any more thought to acting?” he asked.

            “No,” Nezumi replied.

            “You should.”

            “I don’t want to act. I don’t even know how.”

            “Sure you do, you act all the time. You’re acting like you don’t want to act right now, and you’re doing a good job of it.”

            “Do you always have to spew complete nonsense?” Nezumi asked, and Shion glanced at his profile, saw that Nezumi did not appear bothered at all.

            “Fine, we can talk about it later.”

            “I don’t want to talk about it later.”

            Shion stepped closer to him so that the sleeves of their jackets brushed against each other. “Do you think you’ll be able to control fire again?” he asked, and he could feel Nezumi looking at him, so he glanced at him again.

            Nezumi raised an eyebrow. “You sound like my therapist.”

            Nezumi rarely mentioned his therapy, and Shion was surprised by this, but didn’t show it. “And what do you tell your therapist when she asks you this?”

            “It’s confidential.”

            “Don’t be annoying,” Shion said.

            “Me?” Nezumi asked, looking incredulous, then rolling his eyes. “I don’t know, Shion. Maybe.”

            _Maybe_ was a better answer than Shion had been expecting. “Really?”

            “Don’t get excited, how should I know? I don’t even know why it went away.”

            “It went away because you felt alone,” Shion replied.

            “That’s bullshit, I spent most of my life alone and this never happened. And I don’t feel alone anymore anyway.”

            “You don’t?”

            Nezumi didn’t say anything, and Shion grinned.

            He released his hand from his own pocket and slipped it into Nezumi’s, wrapping it with some difficulty around Nezumi’s hand.

            Nezumi didn’t protest, which Shion took as a sign that this was all right with him.

            “Say you were able to control fire again,” Shion said, as they crossed a street.

            “Your hand is sweaty.”

            “Would you leave again?”

            “You really have to ask that?” Nezumi asked, stopping walking in front of the movie theater that they were still rebuilding because of fire damage, and Shion stopped as well, took his hand from Nezumi’s pocket.

            It was sweaty, and he wiped it on his own jacket.

            “Nothing would have changed. There’d be the same risk as before of you being unable to control your fire.”

            “Everything has changed,” Nezumi said, looking at Shion like he was saying something nonsensical.

            “I mean, now, yes, of course, you can’t conjure fire at all. But if you were able to again, then – ”

            “I wouldn’t hurt you,” Nezumi said, so certainly that Shion stared at him.

            “But – Nezumi, I always believed that, I never thought you would hurt me, but you were convinced before that you would, that it was a possibility, I don’t understand what could have changed your opinion.”

            “I wouldn’t lose control of it,” Nezumi said, like it was simple, a fact.

            “But how can you know that?”

            “Because I do.”

            “That’s not an answer.”

            “Yes, it is.”

            “Nezumi, no, it’s not, you can’t just be certain of that, that’s the point, losing control means you have no way of controlling it, it just happens without your permission, it’s not any testament to your force of will or – ”

            “Is there a point of you arguing about this? Do you want me to leave again? Do you think I’ll hurt you if I can manipulate fire again?”

            “Of course I don’t want you to leave! And I never thought you were going to hurt me in the first place. But – ”

            “Then it’s a non-issue, we’re in agreement. Don’t make arguments unnecessarily.”

            Shion shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s not unnecessary. I want you to be able to control fire again, but I need to know if I have to prepare myself. I need to know if you’re going to leave when it happens. If it happens,” Shion corrected himself.

            Shion could see Nezumi’s jaw tighten. “I’m not going to leave again.”

            “Please don’t lie to me, Nezumi.”

            “I’m not lying to you!” Nezumi shouted.

            Nezumi had not raised his voice since he’d been living with Shion, despite Shion’s attempts to rile him up, to get him angry.

            Shion was well aware that his constant questions and prying were annoying Nezumi. Of course he knew this.       

            But he wanted to see it. He wanted to see Nezumi as passionate as the man used to be, as heated and angry as he could be when he wasn’t cool and collected.

            He had wanted emotion from Nezumi, and it was clear on Nezumi’s face now – more than the hints of emotion Shion had received from him in the months that had passed, here was a storm of it.

            “I know you’re not this stupid, so quit acting like it,” Nezumi continued, still loudly so that other people on the street were staring now. “I’ve told you I’m going to stay, I’ve told you I want to be here, I’ve told you I love you, what more do you want? Should I write it in blood? You’re being stubbornly clueless, and it’s pissing me off. And since when were you so desperate for validation? A lack of your usual conceitedness doesn’t suit you, Shion, I’m serious, it’s very unbecoming. I have confirmed enough times what I feel about you, I’m getting a little sick of it.”

            Shion looked happily at Nezumi’s livid expression. “You’re very right, I apologize. Now try to conjure fire.”

            Nezumi opened his mouth as if to shout again, then immediately deflated, his shoulders falling and his glare softening as he blinked in confusion. “Now – What? Did you just – Hold on, did you just piss me off to see if it’d make me able to conjure fire again?”       

            “You’re smarter than you look,” Shion said, biting his lip.

            Nezumi stared. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered through his exhale, weaving his fingers roughly through his bangs. “Completely insane.”

            “Are you going to try or what?”

            Nezumi shook his head and turned around, walking away from him until Shion ran to catch up. “You really should be locked up. Society shouldn’t be forced to deal with you. I definitely shouldn’t.”

            “Did you try?”

            “Do you still not know when to shut up?”

            “Did you?”

            “Yes, I tried,” Nezumi snapped, and Shion felt a squeeze of disappointment, but attempted to push it away.

            He wasn’t going to lose hope.

            “I’m sorry. I thought it might work.”

            “You were wrong,” Nezumi said shortly.

            “If it helps, I don’t need validation. I’m completely aware of how you feel about me, and I trust you, that you won’t leave me again.”

            “That doesn’t help,” Nezumi replied, but his voice was less rigid.

            Shion noted that Nezumi’s hands were no longer in his pockets, and he reached out, caught Nezumi’s fingers in his own and weaved them together. He squeezed Nezumi’s hand, and after two more steps, Nezumi squeezed back.

            “You made a bit of a scene back there. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s in the newspapers tomorrow. _The Last Surviving FireMaster Exclaims Passionately on the Street! The Hearts of Bystanders Catch Fire._ ”

            Nezumi made a snorting sound, and Shion glanced up at him, surprised to see that Nezumi had laughed, if only in an exhale of breath.

            Shion’s brief disappointment fell immediately away, replaced by a blooming warmth in his chest.

            “The arsonist might get jealous and try to break out of jail,” Shion added.

            “Don’t even start with the arsonist,” Nezumi said, sounding exasperated but in an amused way and shaking his head.

            “He loves you. You can’t blame him for that.”

            “Can I blame him for setting fires to half the city? And he doesn’t love me, he’s disillusioned.”

            “He’s smitten. When he thinks of you, sparks fly. Literally.”

            “You’re trying to piss me off again, aren’t you?”

            “It’s not my fault you’re so short-tempered,” Shion said, nudging Nezumi’s shoulder with his own.

            Nezumi freed his hand from Shion’s, and Shion wondered if his casual touches were still too much too fast, but then Nezumi’s arm was around Shion’s shoulder, and Shion stepped closer to him, their sides against each other.

            He wrapped his own arm around Nezumi’s waist, hating the jackets they wore, the sweaters underneath them, the undershirts under that.

            He hated the cold weather, making them bundle up, but it was hard to feel too upset.

            With each step, he thought he felt Nezumi’s arm pull him closer, and soon, he thought, there’d surely be no space between them at all.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, as always thanks for reading, i'm like 99% sure there's just going to be one chapter after this (posted hopefully tomorrow but probably the day after) and it'll finally be over!! woo!! haha anyway hope you guys liked today's chapter!


	20. Chapter 20

On the first day of March, Nezumi had been living with Shion for five months and sleeping in his bed for one of those months.

            He only knew it was the first day of March because Satoshi told him.

            “Happy first day of March,” Satoshi said, driving back from a car crash on the side of the road, which Nezumi had learned firefighters often responded to in addition to the ambulance.

            “Is it a holiday?” Nezumi asked, glancing at Satoshi.

            “It’s my wife’s birthday.”

            Nezumi looked back out his window. He had no idea why Satoshi insisted on sharing his personal life with him, and he’d found that whether he responded or ignored him, Satoshi would continue on relentlessly.

            “She’s pregnant,” Satoshi added, and Nezumi looked at him again, saw that the man was grinning.

            “Congratulations,” he said, after a moment, wondering why he had not been informed of this news alongside the other firefighters. “Does the crew know?”

            “Nah, not yet. Was going to tell them, and then, you know, the three-car pile-up.”

            “Right.”

            “What about you?” Satoshi asked.

            Nezumi just looked at his profile until Satoshi glanced away from the road, his grin still lingering.

            “You pregnant?” Satoshi asked.

            “What the hell does that mean?”

            “Nothing. You’ve been living with that Shion for five months, that’s all.”

            “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “Don’t worry, I’m just trying to figure out your sense of humor. One day I’ll crack it. Clearly, this was the wrong route to take,” Satoshi said good naturedly. “You are boyfriends, right?”

            Nezumi chose not to reply.

            “It wouldn’t kill you to tell me something personal about yourself. I feel crappy not knowing anything about you after basically half a year of being your partner. What if you died? I wouldn’t even be able to offer any sort of tribute to you, I’d have nothing to say other than I’m pretty sure I consistently piss you off. You know, I try to give you space, don’t get me wrong, I get you’re a private person, but just one thing, _one thing_ , that’s all I need. Then I can leave you alone and we can both be spared from the torture of me attempting to get you to open up.”

            Nezumi pushed his bangs off his forehead. “Fine. You can have one thing, what do you want to know?” he asked, eager for Satoshi to leave him alone.

            Despite not looking at the man, he could hear Satoshi’s grin in his voice. “Really? Great, let me think…Wait, I got it – Do you even want to be doing this?”

            “Doing what?”

            “Being on the crew. Firefighting.”

            Nezumi pulled his hair from its ponytail, tied it up again. “It’s fine.”

            “See, the thing is, that’s not really an answer.”

            Nezumi sighed. “No, I don’t want to be doing this.”

            “Then why don’t you quit?”

            “From what I can tell, food and shelter cost money, and money requires a job. If I’ve been mistaken this whole time, let me know,” Nezumi said dryly.

            “It’s nice to hear your sarcasm again, I almost forgot how scathing and rude you could be.”

            Nezumi stared out the window, looking for something he recognized that would hint that they were near the station.

            “There are other jobs available to you, not sure if anyone has told you this isn’t a lifetime gig.”

            “You sound like Shion,” Nezumi mumbled.

            “Do I? I wouldn’t know, you never mention him, so I know nothing about him.”

            “This job is fine.”       

            “I’d write you a good recommendation. You’re a good worker.”      

            “You’re not my boss.”

            “Well, the chief would ask me about you, and I’d tell him good stuff, and he’d write you a good recommendation.”

            The station was in view, and Satoshi drove the truck to the driveway, reversing up into it so the drive out to respond to any calls would be quicker.

            He put the car in park, took the keys out of the ignition, and Nezumi unbuckled his seatbelt but could tell Satoshi was looking at him, so he turned instead out getting out of the truck.

            “Look. It’s easier to stay here. I get that. Looking for a new job is putting yourself out there, it’s dealing with the idiots in this city who might still be scared of you, or worse, idolize you or some other weird crap that I’m sure you have to deal with pretty frequently. You’re gonna have to work with new people, and I can tell I’m already too much for you as it is. But for all you know, these new people won’t bother you as much as I clearly do. And you might actually enjoy what you spend your life doing. Which is not such a bad thing, as much as you seem averse to it. You could try it, you know. Enjoying yourself. You might like it.”

            “Thanks for your sage advice, I’ll keep it in mind,” Nezumi said, annoyed and feeling distinctly patronized at being told to enjoy his own life.

            “I could just get you fired. You’re no longer irreplaceably valuable here, it wouldn’t be difficult. Then you’d have to do something you liked. What do you like anyway? A model or actor is probably too obvious a guess, isn’t it?”

            Nezumi chose this point to get out of the truck, but unfortunately, Satoshi followed him, not shutting up as he did so.

            “Don’t tell me I’m right. I’m not right, am I? You want to be a model? You have the brooding thing down.”          

            Nezumi headed to the stairwell, intending to drop his suit and mask in his room and then leave. His official shift had finished a half hour before.

            “Hey, I’m not making fun of you, do you think I’m making fun of you? Nothing wrong with modeling. I’m not doing that firefighter thing where I act superior because of my job, don’t think I’m doing that,” Satoshi said, following Nezumi to his room and standing in the doorway while Nezumi shed his firefighter jacket and the pants he’d pulled over his jeans. He pulled on his own jacket that he’d left strewn over the bunk above his.

            “I’m not a model,” Nezumi said, pulling the sheets off his bunk to throw in the laundry.

            “You could be.”

            “Can you shut up? I don’t want to be a model.”

            “Then what do you want to be?”

            “Away from you,” Nezumi muttered, shoving past Satoshi with his sheets and suit in hand.

            “I got it. An actor, that’s what you want. You read plays. Shakespeare. You want to be Romeo.”

            Nezumi headed to the laundry, threw his pile into the basket and walked around Satoshi again, who somehow constantly saw fit to stand in doorways, forcing Nezumi to shove through him.

            He went back to the stairwell, walked down with Satoshi a step behind him.

            “I can see it, yeah, you’d be good at that. Actors need to be more expressive though, you might have to work on that. I like the theater, but the wife doesn’t so I have to go alone, which kind of stinks. Hey, you want to go to a show sometime?” Satoshi laughed. “I know you don’t, I know you don’t, I can’t even suggest it with a straight face. Oh, is your shift over?”

            They’d gotten to the lobby, and Nezumi headed for the exit.

            “Shit. Okay, hey, wait,” Satoshi said, and his hand slammed on the door just as Nezumi attempted to open it.        

            Nezumi stepped back. “What?”

            “I didn’t know your shift was over, I’ve been putting it off. I talk when I’m nervous, my wife says I need to stop doing that.”

            “I don’t care about your wife.”

            “I know that. You don’t have to. Look, I’ve got to get your psych eval submitted. I don’t know if you know this – my guess is you don’t, seeing as you treat me like a dipshit, but I’m your supervisor, so I’m in charge of your psych evaluation. We’ve got to get them in every six months, and technically today, as the first of March, is the start of your seventh month, since the first fire you responded to was the first of September. So we’re officially late on that.”

            “Psych evaluation,” Nezumi repeated.

            Satoshi held up both his hands. “You don’t have to do anything or answer any questions since you’re talking to the department therapist at least three times a week, which means she actually fills out the eval I would have had to do. So that’s the good news. I just need you to sign a sheet. Which really, I didn’t have to put off for so long, but getting you to do shit is difficult, and my wife says I’m a procrastinator.  Which you don’t care about. I know.”          

            Nezumi stared. “You read what I talk to the therapist about?”

            Satoshi shook his head. “No. Nezumi, of course not. I’m just in charge of the paperwork, getting your signature, that fun stuff. There’s this form she has to sign saying she thinks you’re all right to keep working on the crew, saving lives, that sort of thing, and she signed it. Now I just need you to sign it. No big deal. Easy peesie. I don’t know why I just said easy peesie, I apologize for that, I’ve never said that in my life.”

            Nezumi shoved his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Where is it?”

            “One second,” Satoshi said, then disappeared from the lobby, and Nezumi walked up to the counter, leaned against it as he waited, drumming his fingers on top of it until Satoshi was back with a manila folder.

            He pulled out a form and a pen.

            “You don’t want to sit down or anything?”

            “I don’t need to sit down to sign something.”

            “Of course not, you’re a very talented man,” Satoshi said, and Nezumi ignored his grin. “All right, this is where you sign, you can read it if you’d like. It mostly says I had the therapist confirm you passed the eval, you’re good to go, and I agree with her, and nothing will change.”

            Nezumi looked up from the form. “You don’t agree.”

            “Sorry, what?”

            “You don’t agree that I passed. That’s why you want me to find another job,” he said, placing down the pen Satoshi had given him without signing the sheet.

            Satoshi looked at Nezumi, then reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. No, that’s not it. I think you’re fine to stay on the job, and I do agree that you pass. I might not have a few months ago, but now, you’ve been doing well, the crew is benefitted by your work.”

            Nezumi waited. He knew there was more.

            “Right. So, when I was having her sign the form, the therapist mentioned that she doesn’t think you like it here. That’s all. She thinks you’re fine to be on the crew, you’re all checked out, no problems with that. Just that you don’t like it. Which doesn’t matter, you don’t have to like it to work here, you’re not the only one who doesn’t like it, we’re not all gung-ho about fighting fire. But, you know, it made me think I’d try to find out what you would like to do. Cause we look out for each other.”

            Nezumi looked away from him, back at the piece of paper. He picked up the pen again, skimmed the form, then signed it.

            “Thank you, sir,” Satoshi said, taking the form back.

            “Can you tell the chief I need a recommendation?” Nezumi asked, handing the pen back to Satoshi, who blinked at him, then composed himself.

            “That’d be no problem at all.”

            “Thanks,” Nezumi said, then left the station, relieved when Satoshi didn’t call him back to sign anything else.

            He hadn’t realized he’d been at the station for six months. It felt much longer than he’d thought.

            He also hadn’t realized he’d been living with Shion for nearly as long. Almost half a year, longer than he’d lived with Shion previously.

            Nezumi stopped walking abruptly, startled by the thought of how long it had been. How it still felt new. How he’d been waiting for it to feel more familiar, more normal, but maybe it never would because Shion wasn’t normal, and living with him wasn’t normal.

            Nezumi’s normal was being alone. He didn’t want normal. He didn’t know why he’d been waiting for it in the first place.

            He started walking again, more quickly now, and by the time he got to the apartment building he was sweating slightly. He took the stairs over the elevator, had a key Shion had given him, let himself into the apartment and found Shion in the kitchen with Safu, cooking something, it smelled like some sort of seafood.

            “Hey, how was – ”

            Nezumi strode over to Shion, touched his cheek to tilt his head up, and kissed him, stepping closer to him until he’d guided Shion against the door of the fridge and was glad to pin him there, step even closer, feel Shion’s body flatten and relax against his.

            Shion made a sound into his lips, like a sigh but with a bit of voice escaping through it. Nezumi could feel Shion’s hands on his jacket, pulling him.

            Nezumi slipped his hand around Shion’s jaw, to the nape of his neck, up into his hair. Opened his lips farther, Shion’s mouth warm and wet against his, very soft, very solid, and Nezumi tasted him, found that he tasted a little like garlic, but not in a bad way.

            Nezumi breathed against Shion’s mouth, not wanting to move farther away. Felt heat pool in his lower abdomen, pressed his hand that wasn’t in Shion’s hair against the man’s waist, dipped it beneath Shion’s sweater and felt the startling warmth of Shion’s skin.

            Shion made another sound, his hands in Nezumi’s hair now. Kissed him back hard. Their foreheads touched. Nezumi felt Shion’s teeth tug at his lip. He tried to step even closer but couldn’t, felt his knee dip between Shion’s legs, felt Shion rub against him, felt that Shion was hard and tightened his grip in the man’s hair.

            “I really hate to interrupt, but I’d hate it more if you starting having intercourse in front of me, so some sort of intervention feels necessary.”

            When Nezumi pulled away from Shion, he did so slowly, not wanting to, first his lips from Shion’s but letting their foreheads touch still, then moved his head back, feeling Shion’s hands slip from his hair. He unwrapped his own fingers from Shion’s hair. He slipped his hand out from under Shion’s sweater. He stepped back, took his knee from between Shion’s legs, from up against his crotch, and took another step back just to be thorough.

            He watched Shion breathe hard, then glanced at Safu.

            “Sorry.”

            “It’s rude to have sex with you’ve got a friend over,” Safu said.

            Nezumi smiled. “Sorry,” he said again.

            “You know, that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile in quite a long time,” Safu said. “I almost forgive you.”

            “Safu, I know this is completely terrible of me to ask, but you need to understand that I haven’t had sex with Nezumi in just about two and a half years, so when I ask you to leave, I don’t want to, but I just sort of have to,” Shion said suddenly, in a rushed sort of way, and Safu blinked at him.

            Nezumi glanced at him, but Shion was not looking at him, was only looking at Safu.

            “That is terrible of you to ask. But all right, fine, you owe me.”

            “I owe you,” Shion confirmed, and Nezumi looked at Safu in time to see her turn around and walk to the door Nezumi had just come in through.

            “And you owe me too,” she said, pointing at Nezumi.

            “I didn’t say you had to leave. You can stay,” he offered, and Safu smiled.

            “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pass. Have fun, boys,” she called, closing the door behind her, and immediately, Shion grabbed Nezumi’s hand.

            “Ow,” Nezumi said, rubbing his shoulder as he was abruptly pulled out of the kitchen.

            “I’m not even going to ask you why you did that, why suddenly today after five months – Nezumi, do you understand it’s been five months since you’ve been living with me? Five months, _five months,_ do you even understand, having you in my bed and not being able to – And you give me one kiss, months ago, and now, suddenly – Oh, shit, the stove!” Shion shouted, running out of the bedroom where he’d dragged Nezumi rather sharply.

            Nezumi stood, somewhat dazed, in the absence of Shion and his chatter.

            Shion had pulled off Nezumi’s jacket without Nezumi realizing it, and Nezumi figured he’d help the guy out, pulled off his sweater and the shirt underneath it, and was taking off his jeans when Shion was back.

            “We are having sex, right? Because that definitely felt like the sort of kiss that meant sex back there in the kitchen, so I’m thinking sex, but if you don’t want sex, really, you should tell me right now, I’ll need to seriously calm myself down and go take a shower or something,” Shion said.

            “Do you see me undressing? Stop babbling and get your pants off,” Nezumi said, rolling his eyes.

            He didn’t know if Shion had had sex when he was gone for two years, but Nezumi, for one, had not. It had been quite a while, and he, like Shion, was also impatient for it.

            He didn’t know why now, after five months of living with Shion, Nezumi felt ready to do so again, but he wouldn’t question it.

            Shion undressed much more quickly than Nezumi had expected, and stood naked in front of Nezumi while he still had his boxers on.

            “You’re so slow,” Shion said, grabbing Nezumi’s wrist and pulling him to the bed, and Nezumi let himself be pulled, let himself be pinned on his back, let Shion finish undressing him before climbing over him.

            Shion bent over him, kissed him hard, and Nezumi kissed him back, raised his arms to touch him, his waist and chest, his neck and cheek, his hair and lips when he pulled apart from Shion just so he could feel Shion’s kiss on the pad of his thumb.

            “Hey, listen,” Shion said, his voice sounding heavier than usual.

            Nezumi stopped touching Shion’s lips, lifted his head off the pillow to kiss Shion properly again, was allowed to do so for a minute or two until Shion pulled back.

            “Wait, wait, listen,” Shion said, and Nezumi took the time to breathe.

            He felt Shion’s fingers in his hair. On his face. On his own lips.

            “I just want to warn you. I probably won’t last very long. Which isn’t my fault, as it’s been a very long time, you made sure of that,” Shion said, and Nezumi stared at him, then realized what he was talking about, laughed.

            “Okay.”

            Shion’s smile was immediate. “I love your laugh,” he said, unexpectedly, and Nezumi blinked at him.

            “Shouldn’t you be getting the lube?” he asked, because he felt odd with Shion looking at him the way he did, and Shion nodded. 

            “Oh, you’re right, if I’m not going to last we should really get moving, I already don’t think I’ll make it to penetration.”

            “Do you hear the shit you say?” Nezumi asked, leaning up on his elbows to watch Shion twist away from him to rummage in the drawer of his nightstand.

            Nezumi reached his hand up, traced it on the line of Shion’s scar that wound around his back, trickled over the knobs of his spine.

            “Right now? Not really, my pulse is pretty loud in my ears, I can’t hear that much,” Shion said, rather bluntly, and Nezumi laughed again.

            Shion stopped rummaging and straightened back over Nezumi, touched Nezumi’s lips with the hand not holding the bottle of lube. “I really love your laugh,” he said again.

            “We’re having sex, remember?” Nezumi asked, because Shion seemed a little distracted.

            “Right, yeah,” Shion said, pulling his hand away and squeezing lube onto his palm.

            “Want me to – ”

            “Don’t touch me. If you do, I definitely won’t last. Just keep your hands by your sides or something,” Shion said, sounding completely serious, and Nezumi thought the man was crazy but did as he was told.

            He would do anything Shion asked from him, with Shion sitting over him like that, applying lube to himself, looking at him with his heavy-lidded eyes.

            When Shion lowered himself down onto Nezumi, he made another sound that he muffled with his forearm over his lips, and Nezumi realized he wasn’t going to last long either, tightened his hands around the sheets over his mattress so he wouldn’t wrap them around Shion’s waist and pull the man harder down onto him.

            Shion leaned down again, moved his arm from his lips to kiss Nezumi, who could hardly concentrate on kissing him back, and their mouths were sloppy, Shion knocking his teeth against Nezumi’s not once but twice, and Nezumi hardly noticed.

            “Sorry,” Shion mumbled, not kissing Nezumi anymore, his forehead heavy against Nezumi’s collarbone as his body moved faster over Nezumi’s own.

            Nezumi pressed his lips to Shion’s hair. Breathed against the white locks, felt strands of hair sticking to his lips, closed his eyes, tightened his fists farther around the bedsheet when Shion bit the skin of his chest, hard, and made another sound.

            He had to stop with the sounds, or Nezumi was going to lose it.

            Shion lost it first. Nezumi felt the liquid heat of Shion’s release over his stomach, felt the searing pain of Shion biting harder on his skin, cringed but didn’t mind one bit, wanted Shion to bite him harder.

            Nezumi figured it was okay for him to touch Shion now, and gripped Shion’s waist, changing the man’s rhythm only slightly, feeling Shion lift his head, feeling Shion’s lips in his ear.

            “If I start begging you to come inside of me, will you laugh again?” he whispered, and Nezumi heard Shion giggle in a breathy way, felt the heat of this laugh curl into the shell of his ear.

            He released one side of Shion’s waist to lift his hand up and wrap it over Shion’s lips.

            “You’re so stupid,” he mumbled, feeling Shion laugh against his palm, his breath sticky and hot.

            It was a testament to Nezumi’s own sexual frustration that he was able to climax at all, with Shion giggling like an idiot into his hand.

*

Shion touched the bitemark on Nezumi’s chest a few inches beneath his collarbone, the tear in his skin, the trickle of blood that had congealed. The sore skin was pink and the blood a deep, dark red.

            Nezumi flinched. “Don’t touch it,” he said softly, turning his head, and Shion felt Nezumi’s lips press into his hair.

            They were sitting up against the headrest of Shion’s bed. It was some odd hour of the morning. They’d been having sex for close to twelve hours by then, taking breaks to use the bathroom, rest, eat, nap, and shower once.

            They were currently eating. Shion took his hand from Nezumi’s skin to reach into the bag of Goldfish resting on the crease made by both their thighs, and his fingers knocked against the back of Nezumi’s hand, already in the bag.

            “You’re eating all the Goldfish,” Shion said.

            “I need them more, I’ve been doing most of the work,” Nezumi replied.

            “That’s a lie. I need them more, my body is the one dealing with the intrusion.”

            Nezumi laughed and popped a few Goldfish in his mouth.

            Shion had lost count of the number of times Nezumi had laughed in the previous twelve hours. He hadn’t heard Nezumi laugh once before this, not since he’d left, not since he’d come back again, but now Nezumi laughed so easily, like there had been a switch turned on inside him.

            “I’m an intrusion? That’s mean.”

            “Try to conjure a fire,” Shion said, but he didn’t mean to.

            He’d been thinking it, but he hadn’t wanted to ruin this. He didn’t want to upset Nezumi. Not now, when Nezumi was suddenly so happy. So much himself.

            But this was the same reason why now felt like the time when Nezumi had to try.

            Nezumi stopped laughing, chewed slowly, looking at Shion, then swallowed and licked his lips. “I have been. A few times.”

            “While we were having sex? When you were inside me?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi rolled his eyes. “No, genius. Obviously not. Afterwards. During, sometimes, but not, you know, during that part.”

            “That part,” Shion repeated, smiling lightly. “Aren’t you an adult?”

            “Fine, not while we were engaging in penetrative acts,” Nezumi said, his voice lofty and lavish, and Shion laughed.

            “See, you would be a good actor, you have human anatomy professor down.”

            Nezumi smiled lightly, and Shion touched his lips.

            “It didn’t work though,” Shion said, and Nezumi shrugged.

            “It’s okay.”

            “Maybe you just need more time,” Shion suggested. 

            “Maybe it’s just gone,” Nezumi said.

            Shion leaned his head on Nezumi’s shoulder. Reached out again for the Goldfish, but Nezumi caught his hand, weaved his fingers into Shion’s.

            “I was going for the Goldfish,” Shion said, while Nezumi lifted their entwined hands up, twisted them around one way and then the other as if examining what their fingers looked like, strung together.

            “Here,” Nezumi said, reaching into the bag with his free hand, holding out a palmful of Goldfish, and Shion took them with his own free hand. “It’s fine if I can never do anything with fire again. I’m okay with that.”

            Shion chewed a Goldfish slowly. He felt thirsty and tired.

            “But you want it back,” Shion said, but it was a question. He closed his eyes.

            “I have enough of what I want,” Nezumi said softly. “More seems superfluous.”

            Shion felt himself falling asleep. He still had a few more Goldfish in his hand, and didn’t know what to do with them.

            “Does it hurt where I bit you?” Shion asked, hearing the tiredness in his voice.

            “Not at all. Do you want to sleep?”

            “Take my Goldfish,” Shion said, not opening his eyes, holding out his hand, and he felt Nezumi’s hand beneath it, opened his fingers to release the Goldfish, heard Nezumi pouring them back into the bag, and then Nezumi was shifting. “Stop moving.”

            “Lie down, you’ll hurt your back falling asleep like that,” Nezumi said, and Shion did nothing, let Nezumi pull him down on the bed, rearrange his arms and legs so that he was lying on his side, and when Nezumi stopped touching him, Shion opened his eyes to see that Nezumi was lying on his side too, facing him.

            “Hi.”

            “Go to sleep.”

            “Set my alarm, I have work in the morning.”

            “I’m not setting anything. Guess you’ll be late,” Nezumi said.

            “Nezumi.”

            Nezumi pushed himself up, reached over Shion, and Shion could feel Nezumi’s body brushing against his as he fidgeted with the alarm clock on Shion’s nightstand, then returned back to lie on the mattress. “Happy, Your Majesty?”

            “Very,” Shion said, reaching out, tucking Nezumi’s hair behind his ear. “Are you?”

            “Am I what?”

            “Happy?” Shion asked.

            Nezumi slipped his leg between both of Shion’s. “More than I can stand,” he said, so quietly Shion didn’t know if he’d heard right despite watching Nezumi’s lips say the words.

            “You can’t stand being happy?” he asked, watching Nezumi close his eyes.

            “I can’t stand that I made so much time go by not letting us have this,” Nezumi mumbled, already sounding as if he was falling asleep even though he’d only just closed his eyes.

            Shion shifted closer to him. “I forgive you,” he whispered, dipping his forehead against Nezumi’s, feeling Nezumi push back gently.

            Nezumi said nothing, and Shion listened to the man’s breaths even out, felt as if he could tell the exact moment when Nezumi fell completely asleep.

*

Nezumi had never sung in his life, not that he could remember, but as it happened, he was good at it.

            “With a little professional training, you could be a star,” the manager had said, proudly as if he was the one in reach of stardom.

            Nezumi returned for the callback, and a week later, he received a scriptbook for _Beauty and the Beast._

            Nezumi had been cast as Belle, which he found a little strange, but he hadn’t questioned it, not knowing much about the theater to begin with. The manager was a different person than the man who’d given Nezumi a role at the theater years before, when Nezumi had hardly even stepped onto the stage before being declared the lead role of the next play.

            Nezumi was no longer a spectacle in the city. It was mid-March, and Nezumi had been there for over half a year, most of that time without any ability to do anything with fire.

            He was no longer the last surviving FireMaster. He was just the man who used to be a FireMaster, which wasn’t as catchy in headlines. The media’s obsession with him was over, and if anything, this was the one perk of having lost his connection with fire.

            He hadn’t told Shion he was auditioning, mostly because he knew the man would overreact, and so the first person he told was Satoshi.  

            “Do I have to give two weeks notice?” he asked, making stew with Satoshi for the rest of the crew.

            They were on food duty for the weekend shift.

            “For what?” Satoshi asked vaguely, then turned abruptly, holding up the knife he’d been using to cut carrots in a threatening way.

            Nezumi stepped back, and Satoshi glanced at the knife in his hand.

            “Oh, sorry, I got excited and forgot that was there. Does that mean you’re quitting?”

            “Guess so,” Nezumi said, stirring the broth.

            “I’m so proud of you I could hug you! But you’d probably throw me to the ground, am I right?”

            “Try it and find out,” Nezumi offered, and Satoshi laughed.

            “Where will you be working?”

            “The theater.”

            “Seriously?”

            Nezumi just looked at him, and Satoshi grinned.

            “Do I get free tickets?” he asked.

            “No.”

            “I’ll take that as a yes. That’s absolutely fantastic, Nezumi. What’s your first production?”

            “Do I have to give two weeks notice?” Nezumi asked again.

            “I’ll tell you if you tell me what your first production is.”      

            Nezumi shook his head. “ _Beauty and the Beast._ ”

            “Amazing. And who are you?”

            “Townsperson number three. Do I have to give two weeks notice?”

            “Liar, I bet you’re the Beast. And yeah, you do, I’m assuming this is it. I’ll pass it on to the chief for you.”

            “Thanks.”

            Satoshi returned to chopping up the carrots while Nezumi added salt to the broth and tasted it.

            “I really am happy for you, Nezumi. But I guess after two weeks, I won’t be seeing you anymore.”

            Nezumi took the spoon from his lips, lowered the heat on the stove. “The theater might catch fire.”

            “Again,” Satoshi added.

            “Again,” Nezumi agreed.

            “If not, look, I don’t know what you think of me, but I find you to be an okay guy, and – ”

            “We’ve still got two weeks, so you should save the speech if you’re about to say one,” Nezumi pointed out, and Satoshi smiled.

            “All right, all right. I’ll save it. But I’ll have you know, it’s just going to become longer with each passing day. You’re going to regret shutting me up.”

            At this, Nezumi laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

            “I just made you laugh. Did you notice that?”

            “Are you done chopping? Hurry up and add that stuff in,” Nezumi said, and Satoshi scooped up the vegetables he’d chopped, tossed them into the broth.

            “Are you going to sing?” Satoshi asked, while Nezumi looked for the lid for the pot.

            He found it in the sink and washed it out before placing it over the pot.

            “It’s even better if you don’t tell me, I’ll get to be surprised,” Satoshi continued on, and Nezumi resigned himself to the fact that the rest of his two weeks at the station would be filled with Satoshi’s usual nonsense, now peppered with the topic of his new role.

            Nezumi figured it was only two weeks. He could live with that.

            He might even miss Satoshi, just a little, after he left, though when Satoshi picked up the spoon for the stew and used it as a microphone as he started belting out “Tale as Old as Time,” Nezumi decided that he wouldn’t miss the man at all.

*

After begging and then withholding sex when the begging proved futile, Shion got a backstage pass to Nezumi’s show, and was in the dressing room while Nezumi’s assistant helped Nezumi get into his costume for the opening show.

            Shion was sitting at Nezumi’s dresser, examining all of the make-up strewn around it.

            “Are you wearing all this stuff?” he asked, picking up an eyeliner pencil and wishing he’d gotten to the dressing room earlier so he could have seen the process of someone putting make-up on Nezumi.

            “Don’t touch anything!” Nezumi called out from behind the partition curtain. “Ow, ah, shit.”

            “Is it too tight?” Nezumi’s assistant asked, also behind the partition. His assistant was a young girl who’d seemed delighted to meet Shion – much more delighted than Nezumi had appeared that Shion was in his dressing room.

            “I think my rib is broken,” Nezumi breathed.

            “Are you okay?” Shion called.

            “It’s just the corset, he’s fine!” the assistant replied.

            “You’re wearing a corset?”

            Nezumi had been cast as Belle. Shion had been practicing lines with him, thrilled at getting to act as both the egocentric Gaston and the tantrum-throwing Beast, getting to flirt with Nezumi and threaten him and attempt to woo him, getting to fall in love with him over and over again.

Better yet was getting to dance with Nezumi around the bedroom, into the tiny living room, around the kitchen while Nezumi crashed them into things and Shion stepped on Nezumi’s toes and they both exhausted each other and held each other up for just a few more steps, neither wanting to stop.

            But the best part of Nezumi’s new job was getting to hear the man singing around the apartment, in the shower, while he made breakfast, folded the laundry, vacuumed, washed the dishes. Shion had caught him singing into a hair comb, another time a fork, and even once a sex toy.

            Nezumi had an incredible singing voice. He sounded like another person entirely. The past month and a half, watching Nezumi get ready, had been the happiest Shion had ever seen him.

            The partition was folding back, and then there was Nezumi stepping out from behind it, looking like a princess in Belle’s yellow dress.

            “It’s just a last-minute fitting to see the new hem, you’ve got to come back to change into the opening dress. That one hasn’t got a corset, so you’ll at least be able to breathe for the first act,” Nezumi’s assistant said.

            “Wow,” Shion breathed, standing up, and Nezumi spun in a circle.

            “Do I look pretty?” he asked, smirking and twirling his hair.

            “Yes.”

            Nezumi stopped twirling his hair.

            “Excellent, the hem looks good, you won’t be tripping on it anymore. Great, come back, I need to get you in the right dress, we’re starting in fifteen. Shion, you might want to find your seat. It was really lovely meeting you, I still remember what a hero you are, bringing clean water back to the country, it’s truly an honor being in your acquaintance,” the girl gushed.

            “Oh, thanks, that’s very nice of you,” Shion said, distracted briefly from Nezumi, as it had been years since anyone had mentioned the water filter to him. He looked back at Nezumi, who winked at him.

            “I’ll try to bring the dress home,” he said. “Now go find your seat.”

            “We talked about this, you’re not allowed to bring the costumes home,” the girl said.

            Shion stepped up to Nezumi, reached out to touch the dress, then Nezumi’s face, though only gently, not wanting to ruin the make-up.

            “You’re beautiful,” he said.

            “You’re making me blush,” Nezumi replied, looking at Shion as if he didn’t quite understand him, as if Shion had something that didn’t make sense when nothing was more true.

            Shion leaned up, kissed Nezumi softly, noting that the man wore lipstick and wondering if there were traces of it on his own lips now. He whispered in Nezumi’s ear before stepping away – “Break a leg and steal the dress.”

            Nezumi laughed as his assistant insisted they had to get him changed. “I’ll try,” Nezumi said, as Shion stepped away from him, let himself out of the dressing room and down the hall back to the auditorium, where he found his designated seat beside Karan and Safu, who lifted the jackets they hadn’t even needed to bring from his seat.

            It was the first week of May, and already it felt like the thick of summer.

            “How is he doing? Is he nervous? Is that lipstick on your lips?” Safu asked, turning Shion’s chin towards her as Shion heard his name being called, and he glanced over his shoulder, spotting a familiar man sitting two rows back.

            “Satoshi, hi,” Shion said, smiling at the firefighter. “It’s good to see you.”

            “This is my wife,” Satoshi said, pointing to a woman sitting beside him.

            “I do have a name,” the woman said, though she was smiling.

            “It’s starting,” Safu hissed, pulling Shion’s sleeve, and he faced forward again as the lights dimmed and there was complete silence, and then a few notes of music as the curtains parted.

            Shion felt that his palms were sweating, and wiped them on the knees of his pants.

            He felt nervous without knowing why, but more than that, he felt more at ease than he ever had in his entire life.

*

The day after the opening show of _Beauty and the Beast,_ a large photograph and accompanying article on Nezumi’s debut as a thespian was spread across the front page of the newspaper.

            It was a photograph from the play, with Nezumi dressed as Belle, and since Nezumi had brought the paper in, he hadn’t seen Shion’s face, as Shion constantly had the paper held up in front of it.

            “Stop reading that article,” Nezumi said.

            “I’m not reading the article, I’m looking at the photograph.”

            “Why would you look at a photograph when the actual person is sitting across from you?” Nezumi asked, finishing his tea and standing up to place his empty mug in the sink.

            “You’re not dressed as Belle right now,” Shion replied.

            “So you only like me as Belle?”

            “I see you as you all the time, it makes sense that I would find the Belle version more entrancing, I’m not tired of it yet.”

            “Did you just tell me that you’re tired of my face?” Nezumi asked mildly, reaching around Shion to get his empty plate and check his mug, finding it halfway full and leaving it in front of Shion.

            “Don’t be so sensitive, I look at your face all the time, it’s just the natural course of things,” Shion said, not looking away from the newspaper.

            “The natural course of things,” Nezumi repeated, turning on the faucet to wash the dishes, and after a moment Shion was beside him, taking the dishes from him to dry.    

            “I can’t wait for tonight’s play.”

            “You’re coming again?” Nezumi asked.

            “Why wouldn’t I?” Shion asked, sounding surprised.

            “You just went last night. It’s going to be the same thing. The story doesn’t change,” Nezumi reminded.

            Shion smiled. “Obviously. That doesn’t mean I’ll ever tire of it. I promise, that’s impossible. I’m going to go to all of your plays, Nezumi.”

            “Now you just sound like a stalker.”

            “I’ll even follow you back home. And sleep in your bed. And watch you while you sleep.”

            “You should be locked up with that crazy arsonist,” Nezumi replied.

            “You’d have to break me out. I broke you out of jail, so you owe me,” Shion said.

            “Is that so?”

            “Yes, that’s so.”

            Nezumi watched the way Shion grinned in his sloppy way with his head tilted, crinkles by his eyes. He felt a sudden heat inside of him, as first just a wisp but blooming quickly just below his chest and above his stomach, and Nezumi didn’t even have to think about it.

            He released the heat until it was outside of him, a small ball of flame between him and Shion, not larger than the size of a fist, no larger than a heart.

            It seemed to pulse, then immediately dissipated, the dull red of it loosening into strands that turned to smoke the way his fire never had.

            His fire had never been able to disappear. He either had to consume it back or extinguish it through some other means, like water.

            Nezumi stared at the space where the small flame had been.

            “Did I just imagine seeing that?” Shion asked softly.

            “No.”

            “Is there more?”

            There wasn’t. Nezumi had tried to conjure more as the flame was disappearing. He was trying now. There was nothing left.

            “No.”

            “But how did you – ”

            Nezumi shook his head. “I don’t know.”

            He was still staring at the space where the fire had been when Shion was stepping into it, then stepping forward again, right in front of Nezumi, and Nezumi focused on him, his red eyes, his white hair, his scar like a snake.

            Shion rested his hand on Nezumi’s chest, another on his waist. “Do you feel all right?”

            “Yeah,” Nezumi said, but his voice sounded strange even to himself. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

            “This is a good thing,” Shion said softly. He rested his cheek against Nezumi’s chest. His body was warm.

            Nezumi nodded. Leaned down to press his lips into Shion’s hair. To breathe him in.

            He waited to feel more warmth inside of him, knew that it would come back, knew that he was fine now, he was so much more than fine.

*

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone for reading (especially if you stuck with it till the end oh boy this was a long one), i really hope you liked it!! :)


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